


When There's Only You

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, Bottom Sam Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Codependency, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean almost exclusively tops, Dildos, Handcuffs, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kidnapping, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Sexual Abuse, Switch Dean Winchester, Switch Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Dean has been missing Sam for a very long time. He’s going to make the most of every second he has once he finds him again.





	1. What You're Missing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be very dark. Things do not get better; this Dean that's with Sam is not the Dean we know and love. There won't be any redemption arc for him. 
> 
> If any of this does not sound like your jam I urge you to back away now, I have no other jam to offer you

Dean had been staring at the empty parking space for three solid minutes. The impala was not rematerializing. He checked his phone again. Still no message from Sam about where he was, why he'd taken the car, or when he'd be back.

They had separated to finish different jobs; Sam to pick up food and their dry cleaning, and Dean to check them out of the motel and finish up with the local sheriff department. Sam shouldn't have needed the car.

Dean hit the dial button and brought up Sam's number, let it ring itself out before leaving a message. If he didn't hear back soon it would be the first of many message.

There was a small town diner down the main street and Dean trudged off there to wait. Hoping maybe they'd have a good internet connection and he could find a way to track Sam's phone if need be. If he could find a laptop. Everything he owned was in the trunk of the car or hundreds of miles away at the bunker.

Time dragged on and Dean waited. Something was definitely up. Four hours, seven texts, and a dozen phone calls later Dean got a reply from Sam's number.

_Sam's fine. I'll take good care of him_

The worry in Dean's stomach turned to lead.

* * *

 

Sam found Dean leaning up against Baby when he returned, arms laden with suits from the dry cleaners and some bags of food to keep them on a few days. He’d expected to be back first but at least this meant they could get out on the road.

Dean’s face lit up when he saw Sam and he walked round the car and stepped close. Sam pulled a face, half frowning half smiling.

“Get the trunk would you?”

Sam watched Dean pause and look a little taken aback.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean fumbled around pulling items out of Sam’s hold, jostling him a little before turning around and yanking the trunk open.

They were in the car and pulling out of town in no time, Dean seemed to be in a rush but that wasn’t unusual - sitting just above the speed limit and wanting to push the impala as fast as he could.

“Dude, what?” Sam asked half an hour later when Dean kept glancing over at him every few seconds.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

“Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No. Why?”

“Quit looking at me then. I can’t be more interesting than the road.” Sam waved his hand towards the windshield. Dean shook his head and turned his attention back to driving.

It was a few minutes later before Dean looked over again, he look tired, Sam thought. Must not have slept well on the motel beds.

Dean grinned at him.  
“What?” Sam asked again

“Just,” Dean slumped a little and then seemed to pull himself together “How long has it been?” he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly, a glint in his eyes.

Sam frowned, felt his mouth trying to twitch up at the corners, already inwardly sighing at whatever joke or prank or ridiculous thing Dean was getting at that clearly wasn’t going the way he’d planned.

“How long has it been since what Dean?”

Sam could have sworn Dean’s face fell, if only for a fraction of a second.

“Y’know, since,” Dean waved his hand suggestively.

“Since?” Sam drew out the word, turning it into a question.

Dean chuckled, “Alright, play it that way. How long has it been since the “end of a hunt”?”

“That thing with the old ladies and the bridge club? A week and a half. You can't have forgotten that.” Sam looked sideways at Dean, “What are you getting at?”

Dean was still looking at him. “Nevermind,”

Sam rolled his eyes.  
“Focus on the road, then. Ignoring you now.” Sam said as he rearranged himself in the seat and closed his eyes.

   -          -          -

Dean insisted on pulling in to stop at a motel for the night. Sam considered fighting him on it, or at least asking about it, but he did think Dean looked tired and a little strained around the eyes and it didn’t make a difference to him really. They were checked in to a room on the second floor, up a set of stairs and along a walkway overlooking the parking lot.

The room was actually pretty big, as motel rooms went. Two large, metal framed beds, a sofa off to one side and a TV that was probably over ten years old but a decent size.

Sam dropped his stuff on chairs by the door, kicked his shoes off by the furthest bed and puttered around in the kitchen - dumping their supplies on the table and into the fridge. He turned back around to find Dean just… watching him.

“You alright? Like really? You’ve been acting strange since we left town.”

“Yeah I’m good.” And he really did sound genuine so Sam let it go.

Half an hour later Sam found himself digging through their bags a third time trying to find his phone. Dean said he hadn't seen it and it was probably in the car, it seemed like an effort to go out and search for it in the dark so Sam let it lie until the morning, leaving to Dean call out for some food instead.

Two take out burgers delivered and eaten, three and a half beers and some crappy TV movie later Sam decided to go shower. Dean was fidgeting and restless, and Sam couldn’t figure out why. They hadn’t talked much and that was fine, they didn’t always, but Dean seemed tense and Sam felt his energy permeating the room.  
Dean half stood up as he left the room, and Sam threw him a look that he hoped conveyed the sincere _what the fuck dude?_ attitude that he was feeling.

Dean was still standing around when Sam re-emerged twenty minutes later. He could see him past the diagonal slats of the room divider that separated the kitchen and adjoining bathroom from the living space. Sam sighed and rubbed his hair with his towel. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants so he flung the rest of his clothes onto the bed as he left the kitchen.

“Alright Dean, what’s up?”

Dean smiled half a smile.

“Nothings up, exactly. I just, I missed you I guess.” he looked down as he said it but then glanced up at Sam with a hopeful expression on his face.

“Missed me?” Sam said flatly “While I was in the shower?”

Dean threw up his hands in mock defeat. “You know what, never mind. Do you wanna though?”

“Do I want to what?” Sam heard himself getting exasperated, and honestly it didn’t sound as bad as he felt. “Dean you’ve been asking me half formed questions and only half finishing your sentences all day. Say what you want to say or go to bed.”

Dean hesitated and then took half a step closer.  
“Well, bed does sound good. But only for the usual end of the hunt activities,” he moved right into Sam’s space and closed his arms around Sam’s waist.

Sam was completely thrown off guard. Dean leaned in, turning his head to _what_? Rest his head on Sam’s shoulder? Or Sam didn’t know what else because this is what people did when they were moving in for a kiss, or a hug or _something_.

“What the hell Dean!” he extricated himself from Dean’s grasp throwing his hands up. “Whatever this is, whatever prank you’re trying to pull just cut it out okay?”

Dean looked shocked and crestfallen and about a hundred other things Sam couldn’t even begin to place.  
“You’ve been at this all day, it’s clearly not working, whatever it is let’s just get some sleep and call it done.”

“You don’t,” Dean gulped and stuttered “We aren’t?” Dean gestured between them like it meant something.

“Aren’t what?” Sam snapped.

Dean went pale and turned himself around. He stumbled over to his bag and rummaged around.

“Just fucking tell me what’s going on.” Sam knew he sounded angry and Dean flinched.

“You’re worrying me Dean. Talk to me.” softer now, because he was worried.

Dean turned around holding his pen knife, flicking the blade open and closed.

“I thought, well I assumed, it had to be the same everywhere. I hadn't thought… never mind. But now,” he trailed off. He looked calmer now, steadier than a few moments before.

Sam stood with his mouth agape and a niggling idea falling in waves through his mind.

“You're not Dean?” And it had to be a question because Sam didn't want to believe it. He wasn't armed or prepared, there wasn't any warding anywhere in the room.

“I am,” Dean replied quietly. “This just isn't what I thought.” He was steeling himself for something.

Sam eyed the bags on the chairs under the window; weapons, cell phones, salt, all on the far side of whatever he was facing down.

Dean turned the knife suddenly, pressing the point into his own fingertip until blood blossomed out. Sam stepped towards the kitchen.

Dean looked down at his other palm, carefully drawing something in the blood pulsing from his finger. Sam took the opportunity to turn and run, throwing open draws and cupboards looking for a knife. He found a saucepan and made do with it when he saw Dean in his periphery.

It was quick, Sam swung, Dean parried. They grappled with the pan until it skittered across the floor away from them both. A fist swung out, a wrist was grabbed and Sam felt a palm pressed against his forehead. It stung for a second until he was ripped from consciousness.

 

* * *

 

Dean had been up and out of the diner before he really knew what he was going to do or where he was going to go.

He found a car parked off a side street that didn't look like it was used much, broke in and jump started it before he'd decided which way to drive.

Half an hour after the first text his phone trilled a second time. He glanced at the screen and saw it was Sam's number again. He pulled over before clicking on the message.

A photo.

Sam's hand in one of their stiff hand cuffs.

And six words underneath: _You should see what you're missing_


	2. Tell Me I’m Wrong

Sam came slowly back to the world to the feeling of a cool cloth on his forehead. It was cold and he shivered. _Must have a fever_ he thought. Dean would be taking care of him.

He tried to shift and struggled to move. Really must be ill if his limbs weren’t responding.

“Hey, you okay in there?” asked Dean’s voice. Good, that was good. Sam nodded. He opened his eyes to the bright lights of the room. He was laid on the bed flat on his back and Dean hovered just above him, cloth in hand. Sam cast his eyes around the room, seeing symbols and runes scrawled on all the walls and around the windows. There was a lot, it was dizzying. It meant Dean was protecting them though, that was good.

He looked back and noticed the cloth was bloody. A hunt then, he was injured? Dean leaned down and wiped the cloth across his head again. Sam looked down at himself and found he was naked, legs bent up with his feet flat on the bed and his knees leaning against each other, his arms laid at his sides.   
He wanted to ask what was going on, was ready to find out how badly he was hurt, until the last of the blood was wiped from his forehead and the memories crashed back around him.

The blood, the fight, the _this is not Dean_ terror.   
“You,” He rasped out.

Dean raised his hands and stepped back, “You’re okay, Sammy.”

“You’re not Dean!” Sam yelled past a parched throat. He hurled himself away, only he didn’t actually move. Sam looked down again more clearly finding, in horror, each wrist shackled to its corresponding ankle with thick metal handcuffs.

Sam grunted and shuffled part way onto his side.

“What do you want?” he snarled at the thing wearing his brothers face.

“Look,” it spoke, holding up what Sam knew to be their silver knife, it held the blade calmly against its inside wrist, nicked the skin just slightly and didn’t flinch. And then took a long swig from the holy water flask and didn’t burn. Poured salt easily into a hand and licked it up. Nothing. “I’m not a demon, I’m not a shapeshifter, I’m not evil, okay?”

Sam’s mind turned over and over trying to work the problem. He came up blank.

“You’re not Dean. What are you?”

“I am Dean.” he said simply.

“You can’t be, Dean would never,”

“I’m Dean, just not from your world.”

Sam's brain felt like it was going to burst. He tried to think and kept coming up against a giant wall of _no_. There was no way. He knew alternate worlds and different versions of their lives existed but he couldn’t wrap his mind around this.

“I don't believe you.” but it sounded weak even to Sam.

“Doesn't make it any less true.” Dean said with half a smile. The expression on his face was so very _Dean_ , sincere, yet guarded - the set of his features exactly how they should be - that Sam's instinct not to believe crumbled, just a little.

“What did you do with my brother?” Sam asked, dreading the answer but needing to know.

“What? Nothing! I just didn't think someone who looked exactly like him turning up would be met with anything other than the barrel of a gun so I made sure we left before he saw he us.”

Dean was alive. He would know by now that something was wrong. He would be looking for Sam.

“I've got this place warded up the wazoo” he said as he waved a hand toward the walls “so we don't need to worry about him walking in on us.”  
Sam's relief skittered away like smoke as he took in symbols and sigils that he knew shielded and protected locations from tracking spells and warded against intrusions. He knew Dean would find a way, and he'd just have to hang on until then, but his situation was less than ideal.

“I've been looking for you for, well, it feels like forever.” the not-Dean, _the other Dean_ , said.

“So, you found me. Now what? What do you want?”

“I wanted,” he paused and looked around the room “but nothing here is exactly like I thought it would be.”

“What, were we enemies in your world? You've come to finish me off one last time?”

“The opposite, actually.” Dean said quietly.

Sam's mind whirred furiously in the background while his mouth continued the conversation.

“What's with the handcuffs then?”

The opposite. The opposite of enemies? It clicked at the last second, the second right before Dean sat carefully on the bed next to Sam and placed one hand on Sam's chest and the other in the crook of his neck.

“You're not the same here, we're not the same here, but I couldn't come all this way and not,” he twitched, swallowed hard “I won't be apart from you, not when I've missed you so bad it's like I had ice in my veins. It hurts, Sam. And it's only going to get better when I'm with you.”

Dean leaned down and placed his forehead against Sam's chest. Sam's breath hitched. He thrashed, struggling futilely against the immovable force of the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. There was nowhere he could go.

“I can't believe you're actually here in front of me!” Dean said with a small laugh.

Sam was panicking, there was roaring in his ears and sweat on his brow.  
“If you’re really so happy to see me, let me go, you can’t...you can’t want _this_ , not really.”

Dean sat back and looked deep into Sam’s eyes. “If you tell me you’re happy to be here, like this with me, I will. But I think you’d run out that door first chance you get. And tell me, if you were me, that you wouldn’t do anything to make sure that didn’t happen.” he watched Sam carefully and Sam tried to school his face into a semblance of something that wasn’t anger or horror and he knew he was probably failing.  
“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll take the cuffs off right now.”

And Sam couldn’t. He felt his head shaking and he hadn’t even meant to do that.

Dean leaned toward the nightstand between the bed, pulling a bottle of cheap whisky towards them. He unscrewed the lid and took a small swig before offering it to Sam.   
“It’ll help,” he said, looking encouragingly at Sam, like Sam remembered him doing as a child when he didn’t want to eat the food he’d made.  
Sam, gulped, shook his head. He felt foggy headed enough.  
Dean’s mouth turned down at the corners as he looked at Sam bound in front of him.   
“Just a bit?” Dean asked, “You need to relax.” And then he was pressing the rim of the bottle to Sam’s lower lip, he dragged it downwards until there was room to pour the liquid into Sam’s mouth and Sam didn’t try to protest.

The smell and the taste hit Sam at the same time, harsh and strong. And then it was burning down his throat as he swallowed, and Dean kept tipping the bottle until Sam had swallowed three small mouthfuls.

Before he could form any words Dean stood and turned away again. Sam’s stomach roiled with the acidic alcohol and with fear that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He looked desperately around the room for something that would help him. He could pick the locks on the cuffs, he knew he could, if had anything to pick them with - which he didn’t and he couldn’t move.  
He shifted himself and ended up tipped onto his side, legs still bent and bound to his wrists.

“I found some lube in one of the bags, so I guess at least one of you knows what they’re doing.” Dean said as he turned back around and saw Sam struggling in the middle of the bed. He frowned, “Sam, come on, it’s alright.”

Dean stripped his clothes off quickly and walked back to the bed. No matter how much he didn’t want to look Sam couldn’t take his eyes off Dean and the casual way he moved as if this were nothing, ordinary and to be expected. Dean was already hard, cock bouncing as he moved.

Sam felt cold. Really cold. And it was only partly because he was naked.

“We’re brothers.” he choked out “If you’re telling the truth we’re brothers!”

Dean reached him and took hold of his leg, easily flipping Sam onto his back again.  
“I got over that a long time ago Sammy, and so did you.”

“I didn’t! I haven’t!” Sam protested “Maybe someone who looks like me did, but not me.” He was tense, muscles taut and straining throughout his entire body but Dean didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and Sam couldn’t decide which would be worse.

“You can though, we’ll get you there.” Dean said, softly. He spread Sam’s legs easily, getting a knee up against Sam’s left thigh and holding it down. He dropped the small bottle of lube onto the bed and moved to lean over Sam, one arm on the bed on each side of Sam’s stomach.

“Get off me!” Sam yelled as he thrashed against Dean’s hold and the handcuffs, moving himself about an inch further up the bed.

Dean sighed and shuffled further up to stay hovering over Sam.

“You really want to turn this into a fight?”

“I want you not to touch me.” Sam snarled back.

Sam angled his right leg, getting his knee against Deans shoulder and used all his strength to try to force Dean off him. Dean leaned back part way and pushed Sam's leg outwards towards the mattress until the muscles in his groin screamed at him. Sam kept fighting him, doing everything he could to draw his knees together.

It distracted Dean and Sam only needed half a second. He clenched his core muscles and curled forward, aiming his forehead at Deans face. Dean flung himself backwards to avoid a broken nose and swore loudly. Sam was struggling to get up on his knees when Dean crashed back into him, an arm across his shoulders and a hand tangled in Sam’s hair.

He pushed Sam back onto the bed and pinned him down. Sam held still to avoid getting his hair torn out and looked up at Dean’s face a few inches from his own.

“Don’t make me do it like this Sam, please,”

“Don’t do it at all.” Sam spat back. Sam knew he couldn’t use his body to get out of this, that much was painfully obvious. But his mind wasn’t working at his usual standard because Dean’s green eyes were boring into him and it was Dean, it was all Dean. Everything about him, down to the last detail and there wasn’t a scenario in Sam’s mind that accommodated for this. He couldn’t think his way out of a situation that he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Fuck, fuck, mother fucking,” Dean muttered under his breath. He clambered off Sam and grabbed for the sheet from the other bed. His pen knife was still laid on top of it and he swiftly made some cuts in one end of the sheet. He tore it into long thin strips and knotted them roughly together.

Sam felt everything slowing down, and his breaths were coming short and ragged. His thoughts spiralled out and away and he couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the knowledge of what was coming.

“Don’t, Dean,” but he couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t even know what to ask.

Dean took hold of one knee and wrapped his makeshift rope around and under it, lacing part way up Sam's thigh. He knotted everything firmly and Sam watched Dean’s hands move, saw his leg being pulled back so his knee was level with his chest. He twisted his head to watch Dean pull the rope outwards, felt his leg being pulled out to the side as Dean attached the thin end of the sheet to the corner of beds metal headboard.

He struggled, wriggling and straining, as Dean did the same with his second leg. It left Sam spread out before Dean, everything on show, and no way left to fight him.

Dean knelt back on the bed between Sam’s legs, he kept his hands on his knees as his eyes trailed over Sam’s body. Sam wasn’t cold anymore, a deep warm flush had spread its way from his face down his chest at the way he was so exposed. He wanted desperately to cover himself. His hands, laid on the bed near his dangling feet, twitched in the cuffs.

“Sam,” Dean breathed “No one, no one has ever come close to you, you have to know that. No one has ever done to me the things you’ve been able to. I can’t tell you what it’s been like without you all these years. But,” he paused and Sam got the impression he wasn’t really talking to him, that it wouldn’t matter if he was listening, “I can show you, I’ll show you how much I missed you.”

He looked up at Sam’s face and Sam stared back eyes wide as Dean leaned in and ran his hands around Sam’s cheeks, trailed a touch up the back of each thigh, fingers bumping over the knotted sheet.

Dean wrapped a hand around the outside of each of Sam's legs and leaned down until he was bowed in half across Sam's stomach. He kissed and nipped his way up Sam's midriff and across his chest, pausing and paying special attention to his nipples. Sam flinched and bucked at each touch, hissing in protest.

Dean found his way up to Sam's neck and brought a hand up to cup Sam's face.   
“I'll take care of you,” he leaned down and Sam twisted his head away.

“Don't!”

Dean pressed his thumb to Sam's cheek.  
“I will, I'll take care of you Sam.”   
And then he was gone.

Except not.

Sam felt Dean's hands on his ass, thumbs massaging in circles and he yelled wordlessly, strained muscles pulled even more taut as he tried to inch away.

He heard the pop of the bottle cap and his mind shut off. He looked away at the ceiling, the walls, the bedspread - but kept coming back to the sight of Dean between his legs. He couldn't make himself not watch.

Fingers rimmed around his hole, gentle, wet, insistent. The look on Dean's face pure concentration mixed with wonder.

Dean pushed a digit in, worked it in and out and the drag seemed to take far longer than it should even coated with lube. Sam gasped everytime the intrusion pushed deeper, breathed out a high whine every time it almost left his hole but didn't.

Dean was quick, working in a second finger, but careful at spreading Sam apart. He stopped twice to squeeze more lube from the bottle. The sensations seemed to last an age but it was no time at all until four of Dean’s fingers were inside him, forcing his muscles to relax as they spread apart, widening Sam until he could feel himself fluttering around Dean's hand.

Without warning they were gone and Sam was empty. He wondered what he looked like to Dean whose eyes looked hooded with want. There was a moment when Sam thought it could be over, before Dean took hold of his hips, angled himself over Sam's body and Sam felt the wide head of Dean's cock pressing against his hole.

Sam shuddered and shook his head at Dean, whose eyes were locked with his, before Dean pushed in. He moved carefully, easing in and then halfway back out. Sam wasn’t breathing enough, he knew that, he kept holding his breath at each new inch of intrusion and letting them out in half strangled gasps.

Dean wouldn’t - couldn’t, surely he couldn’t - fit, and yet also he wouldn’t stop, and Sam couldn’t get the two separate ideas to sync together in his mind because both things were true and both things were happening.

Dean pushed in one final thrust until he bottomed out, pressed flush against Sam, muscles trembling. He stayed there, still and panting, looking down at Sam. Sam was shaking, he was full, full of _Dean_. Dean wasn’t even moving, he was just there, _in him_ and Sam was waiting, wondering, he wriggled wanting to lodge Dean loose, and Dean murmured something that Sam didn’t catch.

“It’s alright” he said, louder, “it’s alright I’ve got you.”

“Don’t,”

He took his weight off one hand and lightly took hold of Sam’s cock and Sam jerked. The twitch of Sam’s hips set Dean groaning and he started rocking. He moved jerkily, and fast, all caution seemed forgotten now that the moment was here.

Dean rammed in and out of Sam and Sam felt the stretch and burn of it, felt all of his muscles straining against his ropes and Dean’s weight until Dean thrust against him and hit his sweet spot. Sam let out a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a shout and found himself arching into the contact, everything relaxed and trembling.

“Be as loud as you want, it’s fine,” Dean panted against his skin “no one can hear us.”

Dean didn’t slow down, he moved quick and urgent and hit Sam’s bundle of nerves every few thrusts. Sam was panting soon too, and shaking with rage and still pulling at the handcuffs until his wrist were sore. He tried desperately claw up at the ropes around his legs to work himself free but he couldn’t reach and his fingers fumbled uselessly against the tight bindings.

Dean managed to work his hand over Sam’s cock, irregularly as he worked harder at fucking into Sam, but Sam still filled out and each time his prostate was rubbed Sam almost whited out.

“Dean stop, Dean,” Sam was struggling uselessly, “please.”  
Dean looked up at him, mouth agape.  
“Sam, Sam,”

“Please,” Sam whispered. And that was it, it pushed dean over the edge until he came, hips spasming erratically, thighs trembling where they pressed against Sam’s. Dean groaned, falling over Sam, flopped in half between Sam’s wide spread legs. Sam could barely breathe with his weight like that, but at least it was over.

He writhed under Dean, jerking his shoulders trying to buck him off. Dean glanced up, and then down at Sam’s unfulfilled cock.   
“I got you,” he mumbled.

“No! It’s not… just get off, get out!”

Dean hauled himself up and started over again. He paid close attention to Sam this time, working his hand carefully up Sam’s length. He pulled his hand up and around in a steady rhythm and found the right angle for his hips, causing each sensation to coincide at just the right moments.

Sam was leaking precome while Dean began the process of working himself, and Sam, to attention all over again. Sam felt more mess dripping out of himself, mixing with the lube from before and he squirmed at the wet sticky feel of it. He held back sobs that turned into low moans as Dean eased himself back and forth in Sam’s hole, humiliatingly slowly so that Sam felt each drag by the inch and anticipated each hit of his prostate with agonising build up.

Sam jerked and bucked but it only made things worse, or better maybe, he couldn’t tell. He played Dean’s words to himself over and over “Tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m wrong,” because he was wrong, it was all wrong.

Dean built Sam up slow and steady, working towards a release that Sam didn’t want, at least not a first. Sam shook, felt sick, sicker and harder as Dean kept pumping. He grew hot, felt heat and weight pooling together. Dean had one had gripping hard on Sam’s hip and Sam felt fingertips pressing with bruising strength.   
If he could just close his legs, if he was just untied, if he could just _run_.

His body gave way soon enough, hot stripes of come spurting up between them until they were both covered.   
Sam heard the breath coming from his own throat in a near silent scream and clamped his jaw shut to stop it.

It took Dean a lot longer to come again, he moved languidly, all earlier hurry forgotten. In the stretching ache of time Sam realised how clearly he could feel Dean inside himself, how easy it was to tell when he started to get hard a second time.  
He explored Sam’s body with his hands too, as best he could while not crushing Sam with his weight. Sam panted while his over sensitive cock was toyed with and his peaked nipples pinched and fingernails scraped lightly over his hips. Dean rolled Sam’s balls in his hand and moaned loudly at the way Sam jerked away from the touch.

It was hours, or it felt like hours and Sam laid limp before it was over. He hung in his restraints exhausted while Dean filled him a second time.

Sam spaced out, barely kept his eyes open as he felt Dean’s cooling come leaking out of his hole and his own drying sticky on his chest. He hadn’t realised Dean had pulled out and only noticed he felt empty, wildly, beautifully, horribly empty, when the bed dipped as Dean climbed off the edge.

Dean walked away and Sam panicked, still pinned and held fast with his knees spread achingly wide and his wrists chained to his feet.

“Dean I can’t stay like this!” He meant to shout it but it came out quiet.

Dean returned moments later, a warm cloth in hand. Sam’s eyes were losing focus and there was something else in Dean’s hand too. He heard a click, a shuttering whir; and he grimaced, knowing and hating that sound but not understanding why. Just that it was bad and Sam’s mind yelled _no_ even as his thoughts shut down.  
Dean shushed Sam and wiped him quickly down. Someone sobbed as the cloth wiped Sam’s ass like he was child, and Sam had to assume it was him. He was shaking too, he knew, because the chains were rattling.

He noticed his right hand moving and looked blearily down to see that Dean had uncuffed it from his ankle and was pulling it out across the bed. He watched him pull the cuff over the side of the bed and heard the clink as it attached to the low rail down beside the mattress.

Sam closed his eyes. He couldn’t think. He knew he shouldn’t sleep, you don’t let your guard down around an enemy like that. He became aware of his leg being unhooked, eased straight and rubbed back into feeling past pins and needles.

Around the time his other hand was released from his ankle and chained to the bed, Sam lost his fight against sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean couldn’t keep it in his pants. Sorry Sam.
> 
> They will have to talk a bit more, so some explanation of the world I’m setting up here will be coming in the next chapter! Speaking of, there is no update schedule for this but I do have it all planned out so I can pinky swear that it won’t get abandoned even if there’s some time between chapters.
> 
> Comment and kudos away my lovelies, let me know what you think!


	3. How Long

Sam slept fitfully all night. The first time he woke he thrashed, and finding himself unable to move called out for Dean without thinking. In the seconds it took Dean to appear by his side Sam’s thoughts caught up with the situation and he found himself like a deer in the headlights under Dean’s worried gaze.

The second time he woke fully it was Dean shaking him awake to stop the panic stricken pull at his cuffed hands.

“You're gonna hurt yourself, you have to stop.”

Sam gulped, made himself lie still, half shrouded in a sleep and terror haze.  
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I can’t. I’ll stop.” he mumbled.  
Dean placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, Sam watched cautiously until Dean nodded and went back to bed.

The third time Sam gasped awake but caught himself before making any noise. He laid in the dark room, mind swirling, as he tried to make sense of what to do next. The metal cuffs keeping his hands useless at the sides of the bed were unforgiving. He was spread eagled and vulnerable. There was no pretending he was in a position of power here.

Sam woke every few minutes for the rest of the night. Watched the red numbers on the nightstand clock tick by until dawn while he tried to formulate a plan.  
     

       ~            ~            ~

Sam woke, finally, to curtains closed against the morning sunshine and the sight of Dean leaning over him again. His stomach jolted but Sam forced himself calm, barely pulling away. Dean had another bloody cloth in hand and Sam felt wetness on his forehead, he flicked his eyes up to his brows but couldn’t see anything.

Dean twitched half a smile at him.  
“What is that, with the blood? What are you doing?” Sam asked. It wasn’t what he’d planned on saying to Dean this morning but he hadn’t planned on Dean doing this again either.

Dean tumbled the cloth between his hands, looking pensive, before answering.  
“You know how angels can put you to sleep with a touch? It’s like that. Using the blood it drains a small portion of energy from the soul to complete. It’s a rune, or a sigil, I guess?”

“Why,” Sam paused, swallowed, reconsidered his words “Wasn’t I already asleep?”

Dean turned and threw the wet cloth toward the kitchen bench. Sam couldn’t see if it landed.

“I had to go out for a few things, needed to make sure you’d be… alright, while I was gone.”

 _He needed to make sure I couldn’t escape while he was gone_ , Sam thought.  
Sam nodded, looked halfheartedly around the room trying to decide what else to say. He could do this, he just needed to get through to Dean. Despite everything, it did seem to be Dean, and Sam could manage to talk to his brother.

He was still handcuffed, naked no less, to a bed - so it was far from perfect. But Dean seemed less intense right now. Maybe, if he could get to the point where Dean would uncuff him,

“You gotta piss?” Dean’s question interrupted Sam’s thoughts. Could it really be that easy? Dean would just let him up to the bathroom?

“Yeah, kinda desperately actually.” Sam replied. Dean dipped his head in a semblance of a nod and wandered off to the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later with a tupperware tub in hand.

“This should work,” Dean said, looking only somewhat sure of himself. Sam looked incredulously between Dean’s face and the box, his resolve to be calm, to try and understand, cracked away in an instant.

“No! No way! What the fuck, you really think I’d just let you, that I’d just go along with that?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said you’re desperate to pee,”

“So let me the hell up.” Sam said forcefully, tugging at his wrists for good measure. “It doesn’t have to go on like this!”

Dean stood rooted to the spot, casting lingering looks up and down Sam’s body. Sam turned fiery red and closed his eyes briefly against the burning humiliation threatening to overtake him.

“I can’t, if I let you up now, you’ll just… I have to give this a go, there has to be a way to work things out between us first.” Dean said with a hard edge to his voice.

“So how long are you planning to keep me tied to this bed Dean? What length of time do you really think will get me past the fact that you, you,” Sam paused, held a breath. There was no good way to say it, to acknowledge it. “That you forced yourself on me like that? That you're fucking keeping me here like this?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t plan on this. I didn’t want this, but we’re here now and I’m not just gonna let you wander off again - lose you again!” Dean stepped backwards from the foot of the bed, agitated. Sam had to swallow his own feelings, his own sickening horror, and calm things down; steeled himself for more answers he had to have but dreaded.

“What exactly are you planning now?” he asked, gently as he could manage.

“You really think talking is going to distract you from needing to take a leak?” Dean tried for light hearted banter and it didn’t land.

“Humor me.” Sam said.

Dean sucked in a deep breath before speaking.  
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve looked for you? Any idea how many years I’ve lived after watching you die? I held you as you went cold and your life ended on the dirty floor of that church because I didn’t get back in time to stop it.”

Sam processed, putting the pieces together that matched with his own life.

“The trials?” he asked tentatively, “The Sam you knew died completing the trials?”

Dean nodded, sinking down onto the opposite bed with defeat on his shoulders and grief etched into his face. It was a blow, Sam felt hollow somewhere in his midriff, watching Dean relive the moment of a death Sam had been willing to give in to.

“And the angels fell,” Dean continued quietly, “and the world went,” he waved his hand dramatically “even more cuckoo, nephilim getting created left and right, and the doors to other worlds opened, and there it was right in front of me, a way to get back to you.”

He looked up into Sam’s eyes.

“Four years. Four years without you. Walking through worlds where we never even existed; worlds where we’d both already died - or never made it out of hell. I looked for you across every boundary ever created, and then I found you here.” he rubbed his palms back and forth in a circle, tupperware tub discarded somewhere along the way, and leaned in with an intensity in his gaze that froze Sam to his bones.  
“I never want to hurt you, but I just, I need - I _want_ , some time with you. What happens after that? I can’t say I’ve thought that far ahead.”

Sam felt tears welling up, and it wasn’t sympathy, not entirely. It was hopelessness at his resolve to get away meeting the immovable force of Dean’s will. He crushed the tears down. He had to get through this and that meant shutting everything off as much as he could.

Dean rubbed absently at the back of his head, watching.

“I really do have to piss,”

Dean’s lips twitched upwards slightly. He stood to retrieve the plastic box off the floor, standing next to Sam with it in hand, he paused.

“How do you wanna do this?”

Sam grimaced, because honestly under any other circumstances he couldn’t imagine agreeing to this. He didn't want to be touched at all right now, let alone this intimately.  
“Just get it over with.”

Sam curled his fingers around the cool metal chains connected to his wrists, tried valiantly to avoid yanking and straining to get away.

Dean reached between Sam’s legs, and Sam jerked involuntarily, cringing away from the touch as Dean took his dick in hand before angling it into the box. Dean was clinical about it, no excess touching, no caressing. Everything Sam had feared, noticeably absent. But even so, the sight of Dean’s strong, sure hand wrapped around his shaft sent Sam to the brink of a tailspin.

Flashes from the previous night ran through his head. Dean’s hands trailing over his skin. Dean’s fingers tying knots around his legs. The feeling of Dean spreading him open.

Sam shuddered, swore under his breath. Dean glanced back at him, cocking his head in question. Sam tilted his head back, grunted out one final fuck and tried to relax, breathed deeply, willing it over.  
It didn’t work. But Dean didn’t say anything, didn’t rush anything. Sam looked up after a minute finding that he’d turned away. It took long minutes and willpower greater than Sam would have guessed, but he finally managed to piss.

 

Dean walked away to dispose of Sam’s urine while Sam tried to calm his fast beating heart. He quickly checked over his body, expecting bruises or pain from the night before but found only sore muscles, strained fighting against the thorough restraints Dean had forced on him. Sam pulled experimentally at his feet, lifting his head to see the makeshift ropes tied off around the beds corner posts.

Dean reappeared as Sam shifted. Sam glanced up at him nervously as he managed to manoeuvre himself into a more upright position, arms still held in place pulled wide to the beds edge. Dean didn’t reprimand him, didn’t even comment. He’d moved off into the part of the kitchen Sam couldn’t really see.

Sam looked down at his naked body from this new angle, expecting some marks to show how he’d been treated. To show he’d been raped.

Not one.

Some mix of shame and disgust threatened to drag him under and Sam clamped it down, clenching his teeth in the process. There’d be time for all that later.

“Breakfast?” Dean asked. Sam lunged out of his thoughts and looked at Dean. He was holding a nutrigrain bar, a bottle of water, and an apple balanced on a plate with a small knife beside it.

Sam nodded but… he couldn’t see how he could manage to eat. His gut churned with every step Dean neared and, well, his hands were useless right now too.

Dean bounced down onto the other bed and sliced into the apple with ease, carving it into pieces. He opened the wrapper on the bar and broke it into bite sized chunks. Leaving the knife behind he shifted across to perch next to Sam, a piece of the bar between his fingers. Sam shook his head and leaned away.

No. No, Dean couldn’t, he was going to touch him again, be near again and Sam couldn’t stomach it. Except he’d have to, he had to win Dean round. Buy himself a chance. And he’d need strength and a full stomach for that.

Dean leaned forward, reached around Sam, and pulled pillows from where they’d been squashed at the headboard to rest at Sam’s back.

“Relax Sam, it’s just food.”

Sam slid backwards, leant on the pillows, shook his head.

An excuse, he needed an excuse. Needed to delay.  
“I’m fucking naked,” he said flatly.

Dean’s eyebrows rose.

“It's a good look on you.” he said playfully.

Sam scowled.

“Alright, alright,” Dean placed the plate next to Sam’s hip, sauntered over to their bags and returned with a towel. He placed it carefully, draped over Sam’s hips, giving him some modesty.

A crumbling piece of nuts and oats was back in Dean’s hand in an instant and offered to Sam’s lips. Sam’s mouth was insanely dry. Dean had stayed away from his mouth yesterday, left at least that part of him alone, and Sam desperately wanted to keep it that way.

“I’d really rather do it myself,”

“Feel free to chomp right off the plate,” Dean said as he offered up the piece of porcelain, “but I thought this might be better.”

Sam’s face flushed pink as he looked away; he opened his mouth a fraction. Dean popped the food past his lips without flourish, without pausing. Sam snapped his teeth closed and huffed a breath through his nose.

“You gotta actually chew,”

He moved his jaw mechanically. Swallowed. One down.

Three bites in, Sam pulled away, needed just a minute. He hadn’t looked at Dean since they’d started.

“Is this what you went out for? To get me fruit?” he asked, turning back to see what Dean would say.

“No, well, sort of. I walked past a storefront selling it, seemed good.” Dean shrugged, pushed a piece of apple to Sam’s lips.

The apple was worse somehow, cloying. But it was sweet and sharp, and filled Sam’s mouth with saliva. A second piece had him lick his lips. Dean watched him, only a breath away.

“Water?” Sam asked, thrusting his chin at the bottle on the bed. Dean unscrewed the cap and guided the rim into Sam's mouth. He upended it slowly and Sam rolled his eyes. He wanted to gulp it down but settled for the slow trickle Dean seemed intent on giving him. A third of the bottle was gone before Sam nodded to show he'd had his fill.

The next piece of fruit Dean pushed in slower, lingering with his fingers on Sam’s lower lip. Sam rolled his head away, crunched slower. Uneasy.

“So what did you intend to buy?” Talking had to make this easier, less awkward. Less all consuming.

Dean took a long studying look at the plate in his hands before he answered.  
“I’ll show you, when you’ve eaten.” His voice was tight, reigned in.

Dean’s hand shook slightly as he moved another piece to Sam’s mouth. It was too big to eat in one bite, Sam bit down around the apple, his lips closing around Dean's fingers as his teeth sunk in. Dean stilled at the touch, not moving away even as Sam began to chew.

Dean's presence, his fingers, were crowding and Sam twisted away, wincing as the cuff around his wrist dug in as it reached the end of its chain. He closed his eyes.

“This is just a lot, everything,” Sam opened his eyes again and looked at the plate of food, not Dean’s face.

“No rush, we’ve got all day.” Dean said. Which was a thought that really didn’t help.

Dean seemed to keep getting closer, brushed the back of his knuckles softly against Sams jaw as his hand trailed away. Inched closer until he was sitting with his hip flush to Sam’s. His fingers lingered around Sam’s lips between bites. Sam shuddered, damning himself for not suppressing it.

Dean gripped the plate with his left hand and Sam was grateful there weren’t two hands on him. He hadn’t realised that Dean had been giving him space until he wasn’t anymore, until his skin was clammy with the nearness.

They were halfway through the apple and Dean pushed a piece all the way into Sam’s mouth, holding it pressed to his tongue. Sam wanted him out and flicked his tongue up, grabbing the apple, but Dean didn’t move and Sam had to swallow the juice and saliva filling his mouth. His tongue massaged against Dean’s fingers as he did.

Dean moaned low, quiet, and his hand retreated. Sam chewed haltingly as the taste became overpowering.

Sam watched Dean shuffle on the bed and knew without having to check that Dean was getting turned on by this.

“It's too much, you're too close,” Sam blurted out.

Dean bowed his head before looking up at Sam, concern and hurt played across his face.  
“Is it really so bad? Am I really that bad to you?”

“You think I can fucking forget, let it go, what you did? What you're _still_ doing? Shit, Dean! None of this is something I want! **You** aren’t someone I fucking want.” Sam’s anger and panic swirled dangerously close to the surface of his mind, falling out with his words.

Dean moved swiftly off the bed without further comment, took the plate and knife back to the kitchen. Sam dropped his head back against the pillows, which slumped lower under his weight. He trembled a full body shudder, and he let it happen, let it overtake him. It needed a release.  
He yanked at his restrained legs again, not expecting any give and not finding any. He hadn’t even managed all of the food Dean had offered, and what he’d offered hadn’t been that much to begin with.

Sam turned his head to see a figure walking past outside, a dark silhouette through the drawn curtains of the room. He caught his breath for a moment, weighing up the options. And yelled. A tumble of words and shouts for help echoed around the room.

The figure didn’t stop.

Sam was alone here.

Alone with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time, I've never actually eaten a granola bar so I have no idea what's in them.
> 
> Yay, chapter three! Please tell me if there are tags you think I should add?
> 
> Whether you're a new reader or a subscriber I'd love to hear what you think. I'm also on tumblr as OddSocksandStuff if you want to say hi there!


	4. Not This, But Something

Dean was two and a half hours into the drive to the bunker when he received the next message. He gripped the wheel of the stolen car wondering whether to read whatever it said or keep driving. All his furious messages, his demanding voicemails for the son of a bitch to let Sam go right now, had been ignored. And yet Sam's name lit up the screen so his phone was clearly still active.

Dean reached for the phone, one hand on the wheel and one eye still on the road, and saw that the text contained a photo. His stomach lurched. It was proof of life, hopefully, and he needed to know that Sam was still alive.

The road was empty so Dean eased the car to a stop, and clicked.

Sam.

Naked. Restrained. _Spread._

Bile rose up Dean's throat. He fumbled for the car door and threw himself out just in time to heave his guts out at the side of the road.

_Fuck._

His hands shook with rage as he forced himself back into the driver's seat and picked his phone up again. There were two photos, the first one was from the side. His knees were pulled back to his chest and Sam had turned a glazed, empty look toward the camera. Dean ignored the rest of the picture to zoom in on his face. Slightly pixelated and blurred, but Sam.

He looked exhausted, but he was alive.

There wasn't really any question of what had happened before the pictures were taken.

The second photo, taken from the end of the bed, made Dean throw his phone into the passenger footwell and screech the car into drive.

His time at the diner hadn't been wasted, he'd asked everyone who came in if they'd seen a black ‘67 Chevy Impala. The seventh person he'd asked said they had, and told him it had rumbled out of town heading west.

With a direction to work with and he'd spent the next three hours using the free Wi-fi, looking up where every traffic camera was placed on all routes that headed west in a hundred mile radius.

It was a start. It would take a long time to sift through all the footage but Dean just had to make it back to the bunker and the software Sam had set up could get to work.

Ten minutes later he realised he had another clue and stopped the car, fishing his phone back out of the footwell to check. He was right; Sam was on a bed. A shitty motel bed by the looks of it.

Motel. West.

It was a start.

As the sun began to rise the next morning, eight solid hours of driving later, Dean stumbled - dizzy with fear laden exhaustion - into the bunker and got to work.

          ~           ~            ~

Sam’s stomach sank as the figure walked out of sight and he felt every muscle in his body tense as he turned to see Dean’s reaction to his outburst.

Dean was leaning against the partition between the rooms, arms crossed over his chest. His jaw was clenched and Sam cursed himself for losing control and not sticking with his plan of trying to get on Dean’s good side.

Dean looked at him for what felt like a very long time as Sam’s mouth grew dry with nerves.

“You know I said last night that no one could hear us? I wasn’t lying.” Dean gestured to the walls, “Some of these protection sigils are like sound insulation, no noise is getting out of this room unless I let it.”

Sam’s eyes roved again over the symbols painted around them, he only recognised about a third of them. It was entirely possible that Dean was telling the truth.

Sam looked back as Dean walked towards him, “So if you wanna yell, want to scream your heart out? Go right ahead Sam, I’m not gonna stop you.” he sounded angry, voice a little strained and Sam resisted the urge to chew on his lip with nerves.

Sam was certain for about three seconds that Dean was going to mount him right there and then, give him a reason to scream, hurt him or punish him or something. But Dean stalked past and rooted around in their belongings placing every weapon they had onto the far bed.

“What are you…”

Dean glanced over, eyebrows raised. “I’m putting everything out of your reach. After that display I’m not sure I like my chances of having any cooperation from you if you happen to get yourself free.”

Sam frowned, wondering if there was any way to save his original tactic for making it through the day, and didn’t respond.

He watched Dean load every remotely dangerous item into the safe in the closet and lock it in place. He couldn’t see the keypad from his position and would’ve bet anything that whatever combination Dean picked would be something completely different to their usual pin codes. Sam wouldn’t be guessing it on the first try.

Dean threw himself into a chair in the kitchen, leaning forward onto the table top and looked Sam up and down. Sam had never been so glad to have a towel draped around his waist. Not even as a teenager sharing motel rooms with Dean and John or trying for modesty in high school locker rooms.

“What?” Sam snapped, coiled nerves getting the best of him.

“Nothing really, it’s just weird, seeing you. Seeing you like this.”

“You put me like this don’t complain about it.”

“I didn’t mean, not the cuffs and shit, just here - angry with me and completely not on the same page.”

Sam tilted his head and tried, unsuccessfully, to rearrange himself against the pillows. Fuck these restraints, he was uncomfortable already.

“If it were you, what would you be like? I’m not going to apologise for not going along with your fucked up plan.”

“I know you hate this, I’m not an idiot. I’m just telling you to give it a little time, let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

“Right, yeah, _good_. I’m sure you have my best interests at heart.”

“I **do** know you,” Dean said as he got up from the table “I know what you like and what you respond to, and I’m going to show you even if I have to beat you over the head with it to get you to see.”

Sam’s thoughts whirred with possibilities, very few of them pleasant, at what Dean meant by “making him feel good”. Or making him feel anything. Dean was just going to barrel ahead. He would do whatever he wanted and take whatever he wanted, regardless of what Sam said.

Talking him down from this idea he had in his head of what Sam was, what they were to each other, was slipping through Sam’s fingers like silk. Sam had to get back some modicum of control but he couldn’t see how.

Sam looked up from his train wreck of thoughts to find Dean tipping out shopping bags into the floor. Sam couldn’t see what was in them but there were a lot of thuds as everything hit the carpet.

Dean turned around with spools and spools of thin black rope in his hands. Sam stopped breathing. And started again with a shudder.

The reality of Dean keeping him tied to the bed long term, longer than this one night, barrelled through his mind. It steam rolled every other trail of thoughts until there was nothing but the sight of Dean holding what had to be dozens of meters worth of rope and what that meant. Sam’s heart pounded in his chest and the surge adrenaline made his stomach swoop.

“First thing, we can’t keep using this torn up sheet.” Dean announced “I had no idea how much we’d need to keep you comfortable so I bought about half of what they had.”

“Fuck, Dean. No! Don’t use that, don’t even think about it.” If Sam could keep himself wrapped in sheets that was better, that was less permanent. Much more likely to fray and loosen, to give him a fucking _chance_ of changing something.

“I'm not taking suggestions right now, this is non-negotiable. You’ve got thoughts about what we try next I might listen, but we need this, at least for now.”

One unrolled spool later and Dean was looping and knotting the rope around Sam’s ankle. He sliced away the sheet tied there at the last moment before pulling the rope tight leaving Sam just as well secured as he had been. Sam hadn’t even had a moment to kick out or pull his leg away.

Dean was careful. Too careful. It chilled Sam how efficiently he could remove one restraint and retie his feet to the bedposts with absolutely no wiggle room in the interim.

Sam jerked his leg against the knots and felt the smooth finish of the rope as it rubbed his skin. So different from the chaffing cut of the strips of sheet. It was soft, supple but durable. A thought occurred to Sam in a sickening realisation.

“You went to a sex shop.”

“Yep. Found the nearest one I could. Other side of town but a pretty decent size. They had some really gaudy stuff, like who wants bright pink handcuffs? Some people have no class.”

Sam almost laughed. It was insane, thinking of Dean shopping at a sex shop while he was forcibly unconscious and tightly secured here in the motel room.

“You… you went to a fucking sex shop. You thought ahead and planned this and - and what the hell else did you buy Dean? What, you want me in see through lingerie or something? Got some weird fantasy that your Sam would never let you do?”

Dean paused in rearranging whatever else was on the floor.

“This isn’t me trying out some newfangled idea, alright?” he stood and placed a hand on Sam’s bare foot making Sam flinch. “This is me doing what I can to make this easier on you, to bring us both to a place I know we can get to. Grow a pair, stop freaking out over every little thing. I know you’re not as prudish as you like to make everyone think so let me do my thing and you’ll see.”

Sam breathed through his nose, bit back his usual retort of _fuck you_ in case Dean took that literally, and twisted his limbs restlessly in their bindings.

Dean pulled the pillows away from behind Sam's back and pushed Sam until he was laid flat on the bed. Sam struggled back upright as soon as Dean's hands left his shoulders.

“Do you need me to make you lie down? Do you really want to fight me on every detail?”

“Maybe you should have to so you see how much I don't want this.” Sam said, voice low and hard.

“You don't know what you want which is my entire point.”

“No, you just want to think I can feel the same way about things as you! I always knew you could be pig headed but I never took you for selfish. You're only thinking about your desires here, not mine.”

Dean scowled, expression hard and a little blank. It was the look Dean got when he was done hearing someone out. When he’d made up his mind and it would only change with time, or sleep, or a good long drink.

He charged back across to Sam and fumbled the handcuffs keys out of his pocket. He unlocked Sam’s left hand from the edge of the bed frame and Sam yanked his arm with every last bit of strength he had.

It didn’t get him far, Dean clung onto his wrist with one hand and the free cuff with the other and there was an intense tug of war until Dean climbed up on the bed and used his upper body weight to force Sam backwards.

Sprawled out across the mattress once again, Dean attached the handcuff to the corner post leaving Sam starfished across the bed with his hair just brushing the poles of the head board.

Sam breathed heavily. Furious and filled with dread he clanked his wrist, tugging at the cuff locked around the metal. Dean was controlled and sure of himself as he moved away again  
“Shit, shit. Fuck! Fuck you.” Sam babbled, slightly delirious he didn’t even know if the words were only in his head or coming out of his mouth too.

“Sam,” Dean said, suddenly in his line of sight again “calm down, I’m not going to touch you.”

“What?”

“This isn’t about me getting my rocks off, alright? I will have to help you along at first but after that this is for you. I won’t have my dick anywhere near you.”

“I don’t, then why?” Sam jerked his arm “Can’t I sit up?”

Dean didn’t answer but held out a shiny black strip of material. “I’m going to put this on, just keep breathing.”

Put this on? Sam didn’t even know what it was. His mind had slowed down, filled with sludge and tar, a sticky mess of horrible thoughts. Until a second later when Dean leaned forward, satin material spread between his hands.

He laid the thin scarf across Sam’s eyes and Sam froze. And then yelled.  
“Don’t, get it off, take it off! You asshole, fight me properly or take it off me!”

Dean didn’t. He lifted Sam’s head with ease, wrapped the scarf around twice and tied a knot at the side above Sam's ear. Sam flailed, kicked his legs as much as he could, rubbed his head against the bed hoping to knock the blindfold free. Nothing worked.

He couldn’t see anything except a dark grey sliver of light across the bridge of his nose. Everything else stolen away.

He breathed ragged and stilled, exhausted.

Dean waited until he’d calmed down before he spoke again.

“Okay, listen, I just want you to get used to the idea of focusing solely on your body. You can’t see now, so your other senses will compensate a bit. Give yourself a bit of time to get used to it. I’m going to put some stuff away and move around a bit. Don’t think too hard, just… be, okay?”

“No. Fuck off, no.”

Dean didn’t reply but Sam heard him moving around. Footsteps, clunks, his breathing. Sam turned his attention to his own body, a little strained now from the brief tussle, arm stretched and pulling his shoulder back tight. His toes were cold. The towel across his hips was still blissfully present, hiding him a bit.

It was odd, Sam blind, and Dean not. Dean able to see everything Sam did; every movement, every breath. Sam’s thoughts didn’t resolve themselves out of the fog but fled even further. He felt a bit distant, and realised maybe he was on the edge of hyperventilating if he didn’t breath easier.

Moment by moment, his lungs filled slower, steadier. His mind still raced but Sam forced himself to focus on the in and out, to stay in control of the one thing he was capable of, until he could pull his thoughts towards him again and hold them close.

Dean.  
Dean was going to do god knew what, and Sam was going to have to bear it for now. Sam grit his teeth, and waited.

“See, that’s better right?” Dean’s voice startled Sam but it was annoyingly grounding too, to be able to place Dean in his mind, to know where exactly he was - off to his right a little, at the end of the bed.

Sam swallowed before he could answer “Not seeing your face is nicer, yeah.” he said with contempt.

Dean laughed.

“I've got two things here I want you to feel.”

Sam tensed. Dean touched something to his right palm, thin and cylindrical. He curled his fingers around it and noticed a button. Sam pulled away like he'd been burned.

“Now this,”

Bigger this time, longer, thicker. Still plastic but undulating a little. The toy buzzed to life in his hand and Sam made a weird vocalization in the back of his throat that he hadn't meant to.

Deans words came back to him, the assurance that he wouldn't put his dick anywhere near Sam. Sam could see why now, he had other equipment instead. Sam groaned and tipped his head back trying again to get the fucking blindfold off, he needed to see what Dean was doing.

In a swish of cool air the towel was lifted off Sam’s groin.

“Put it back!”

Dean didn’t answer. Sam felt tears rising, burning his eyes. He blinked them away behind the blindfold and shook his head to clear it.

“Dean?” he waited for an answer.

A finger touched his cock and Sam squirmed. Dean’s hand was lube slick and methodical, rubbing it over every inch of his cock and then retreating.

“Dean, just stop. Just untie me, let’s just go, can’t we just stop and… and go?” he was babbling now and he knew it but it didn’t seem to matter.

Sam held still waiting for more, he was painfully aware of himself. His nakedness, his quickly rising chest, the heat blossoming across his face in humiliation.

“What are you doing? Tell me what you're gonna do.”

“I want to show you how good you could feel, how ready your body is to respond, and the easiest way to prove it is if you don't think it's me. So I'm not going to talk to you, you can pretend I'm not here.”

“Wait no,” somehow silence in the dark between them seemed worse. “H-how, are you going to…? Why?”

Fingers probed Sam's hole and he clenched. He tensed and arched his back. When he couldn't strain away anymore his hips jerkily retreated back to the mattress. And Dean's hands were there waiting and working him open.

“Don't.”

No response.

“I'll do something else with you,” Sam spat out frantically, eyes staring at the black enclosing him. “Not this, but something,” he gasped as Dean scissored his fingers.

Dean kept silent.

Sam kept panting.

Dean was careful, and liberal with the lube, until Sam felt wide and wet. The hated leaking feeling from the night before even more prominent.

Sam's brain stalled. He wasn't breathing. Dean placed a hand firmly on his chest and pushed, forced Sam to breathe out. He dragged air back in as Dean's touch lightened, and let it out as he compressed again. Once Dean had him breathing in a steady rhythm his hand retreated.

Oxygen getting back to his brain gave Sam energy to be angry again. He swore and jerked his body away from the fingers running around his rim.

Dean never said a word.

Soon it wasn't fingers but a small tip of plastic. The plastic buzzed and Sam shuddered under it.

Dean rolled it around his rim, trailed it across his perineum and around his balls, and dragged it up Sam's cock.

Sam let out a keening noise. He juddered and jerked and whined as his cock hardened and precome leaked onto first his thighs and then his stomach.

Dean kept up the teasing, alternating light touches with harder rolling strokes until Sam hated that tiny piece of buzzing plastic for what it was doing to him.

He'd almost forgotten about the other thing. His gaping, lube wet hole and the bigger, longer toy.  
Until he felt a nudge against his rim. It didn't move, it wasn't even turned on.

Dean just sat it there, insistently pressing but never entering. Every time Sam undulated and writhed he felt the plastic head, hard and unrelenting against him.

He didn't know what Dean was waiting for. Why he was dragging this out. Sam was a sweaty, aroused mess and Dean was just hanging out between his legs holding a dildo to his ass.

Sam begged silently for him to just do it. Get it over with.

He moaned as his cock jumped under the buzzing vibration.

He shifted. The world shifted with him. The sensations following wherever he went and not reaching an end.

He hadn't come, couldn't come, with the way Dean lifted away at the very wrong moments. And that _thing_ was still pressed to his ass hole.

He finally yelled, groaned a long low note, “Just do it! Fuck, get on with it you,” he paused for breath, gurgled through an intense bodily tremor “You son. Of. A. Bitch!”

The plastic breached him and Sam's desperate, teeth clenched, whimpering noises cut off abruptly as his mouth fell open with a hitch of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a terribly mean place to leave the chapter and I’m not even sorry, poor Sam, poor readers *cackles to the moon*
> 
> Don’t worry, I have a plan!
> 
> I signed up for to the Team Free Will Big Bang, so that’s been taking a lot of my writing energy, but even so I hope it won’t be another two months before the next update - I’m not promising anything but I really hope... you can find me on tumblr at OddSocksandStuff if you want to in any case


	5. Seeing Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One new tag, take note

Dean finally left Sam alone what felt like hours later, still blindfolded and still with all four limbs secured.

Sam fell into a fitful doze, body exhausted but sparking like a live wire. He was jumpy, muscles pulled taut and trembling.  
He tossed his head against the bed, groaning at the phantom feel of the dildo still pumping in and out of him, before he remembered it was gone.

Every touch from Dean’s happy little toys had sent him careening towards an orgasm and _every time_ Dean had brought him to the brink and then pulled away. Dean had fucked him hard and fast, plastic pushing and thrusting and vibrating, hitting his prostate almost as many times as it didn’t and the bullet vibrator making his cock jump.

And then he’d gone slow, making Sam want to claw out of his own skin at the steady way his need had ratcheted up and up and up only to be denied.

Sam had no illusions that he’d looked anything but a needy, begging mess. He’d done nothing but moan and writhe under Dean’s hands. Though he was sure he’d barely been able to form words amidst the humiliation and the overwhelming feel of it all, he’d made noises he’d never dreamed of making.

Sam slipped in and out of sleep, still feeling desperate, groggily wondering if Dean was watching him even now. Memories melded into dreams and Dean was everywhere, whispering in his ear. Hands ghosting over Sam’s skin, grazing his jaw, his hip, his hole. Thrusting into him, but no that wasn’t Dean, _that wasn’t Dean_ , that was something else - hard and unyielding...

That was nothing, it was over, Sam was alone now.

Sleep took Sam under for a longer time and when he woke he was fuzzy headed but his body had settled down, no more arousal prickling urgently through him.

Sam remembered Dean’s whispered words and groaned. “See, see how good you _could_ feel? This could be awesome, but you’re denying yourself. I can make you see stars. I’ll give you the whole goddam galaxy Sam.”

Sam opened his eyes to find he was still blindfolded and he fumbled for it, hands grasping - and moving. Moving! He jolted and felt the bite of metal around his wrists, pinning them together. Sam wrenched the fabric from his face and blinked until his eyes adjusted.

He was still sprawled on the bed but his hands were cuffed in front of him instead of to the bed frame. One foot was still roped to bed post but the other was free and Sam sat up so quickly his head spun.

“Finally up I see.” Dean appeared in Sam’s line of sight holding a bottle of water. Sam froze and glared at Dean, he glanced back at the rope around his ankle and moved to pick at the knot. Dean didn’t stop him.

He pulled his leg loose and scooted back up the bed, crossing his legs and holding his chained hands low in an attempt to cover up.

“How long,” he cleared his throat, “How long was I out?”

“Couple of hours, on an off, we missed lunch but I can whip something up in a bit.”

Sam’s gut clenched at the thought, “Yeah, lunch, wouldn't want to miss out on a balanced meal.”

Dean threw him the water bottle. He was standing between Sam and the door, and Sam could feel the way his legs shook even without weight on them, so trying to barrel past Dean and actually making it out seemed highly unlikely.

“Hydrate, smart ass.” but it wasn’t said with malice or contempt. Dean was almost smiling.

Sam gulped some water, both hands gripping the bottle and an uneasy silence settled between them. Sam’s anger was a roiling thing, surging through him in waves. But there was something else too, a hesitation; not because he was scared of being mad at Dean, but because he didn’t want to say anything that would make Dean think he’d enjoyed himself.

“Got much else on the agenda for the rest of the day? ” Sam asked icily.

“A shower, if you want. Wasn’t planning on making it a deal breaker though, feel free to stink up the joint if you want.” Dean said, shrugging.

Shower, water, _clean_. It did sound pretty amazing, refreshing - invigorating even. Maybe it would help Sam feel like he had some strength back.

“Sure,” Sam held out his wrists expectantly, wanting to see what Dean would do with his assumption that the cuffs would be coming off.

“Probably not gonna do that. Not yet.” Dean said, looking him straight in the eye, watching for Sam’s reaction. Sam stared back, unwavering.

Dean folded his arms. Sam seethed and gave up, starting to rise to his feet. He winced when moving reminded him of the ache in his ass and stumbled at the pain that shot up his hips. He'd been stretched wide for too long and his muscles protested loudly.

Dean hurried to him and caught his elbow, Sam wrenched it back.

“Come on, don't make a fuss, not like I haven't helped you before,” Dean said.

Sam grunted as Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him steady, shoulder up under Sam's arm. It was mortifying needing support from the person who'd caused the weakness in the first place.

Dean steered him to the bathroom and Sam hobbled beside him, glancing back at the motel door - it felt so wrong letting himself be led in the opposite direction to freedom.

Dean let go inside the bathroom door and Sam lurched away and turned to close it, but Dean's hand stopped him.

“Door stays open,”

Sam gaped at him “You can't be serious!”

Dean planted his feet and leaned against the door frame. “As a heart attack. I know you, leave you unsupervised and you'd be halfway out the window or devising some slap-dash weapon inside a minute.”

Sam looked around the tiled room and noted the two foot high window near the ceiling, he thought it unlikely he’d even fit. Dean wasn’t wrong though, a moment alone to think and he would be trying to formulate a plan.

“So you’re just gonna watch?”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t do anything unnecessary, I’m not planning on making a big deal of it, neither should you.”

Sam turned bright red, heart hammering and disgust clawing up his throat. Dean turned and leaned against the door jam, picking at his nails in a display of complete indifference.

Sam bristled. _Fine._ It wasn’t like he had the strength to fight Dean on this right now.

He used the toilet, doing his level best to ignore everything he felt.

_Don’t think about._

And to pretend that Dean wasn’t standing so close.

_Don’t think about it._

The shower came next and Sam was becoming less shaky on his feet and made it over the edge of the tub with very little problem. He turned the water on and twisted to pull the curtain across but Dean was there in a blink, hand over Sam’s and a stern look on his face.

“Leave it open,”

“What? Why?”

“Just,” Dean breathed in through his nose, “don’t go getting ideas, leave it open.”

Sam extricated his handcuffed wrists from under Dean’s grip and took half a step away, holding his hands over his cock. He searched Dean’s eyes for a long moment, looking for some sign of the brother he recognised and finding a fierce blankness in its place.

He swallowed. “Are you planning to get in?”

“Do I look like I’m ready for a shower?” Dean asked, mocking, gesturing at his clothes. And there, for a moment, was just a hint of the normal Dean.

Sam stepped under the spray of water, wary, but moving, and Dean walked back to the bathroom door.

It was difficult getting washed with his hands chained together but Sam made the best of it, refusing Dean’s help when he offered. He thought furiously while he scrubbed the last day off his skin.

He had to get away, obviously, but what was the best way? Catch Dean off guard and make a break for it? Play along a little and wait until Dean gave him some space before making a move?

Neither option seemed good really, or that likely to succeed with Sam in his current state of shackled undress and weakened body.

He was thoroughly clean and out of thinking time before he’d come to a conclusion though and there wasn’t any way to stall, Dean was watching out of the corner of his eye. Sam could tell.

It was the careful way his body was angled slightly away, giving an air of nonchalance, but head cocked sideways to keep someone in his eyeline.  
Sam had seen it a hundred times or more, but he’d never had Dean’s attention trained on him quite like this.

Dean passed over a towel as Sam huddled out of the bathtub. Part way through getting dry Sam noticed an opening and took it before he could think twice.

Dean was standing next to the toilet, hands in his pockets, and Sam moved in one quick motion. He shoved his shoulder into Dean’s chest, knocked him off balance and then swiped his feet out from under him.

He heard the dull thud as Dean fell against the toilet cistern but didn’t stop to look. Two and a half steps to the bathroom door, a sprint across the room and out, that’s all it would’ve taken.

Sam made it to bathroom door alright but then Dean was on him. Grappling him into the door frame with bruising force. Sam struggled, trying to twist around and throwing an elbow back but Dean dodged. He was too slow without his hands free, too predictable.

Dean pressed a booted foot to the back of Sam’s knee and Sam buckled under the weight and then Dean’s arm was around his neck with the other fisted in his hair.

“Easy, easy,” Dean grunted as Sam struggled. “Let it go.”

Dean applied the perfect amount of pressure, Sam gasped but his blood flow was being cut off more than his air. He faltered, hands clutching at Dean’s arm, but Dean didn’t let up.

With one last burst of energy Sam kicked out, flailing, before Dean clamped a hand over his mouth and nose.

    ~           ~           ~

Dean let up as Sam’s vision started to go dim and his ears were ringing. Dean kept tight hold around his midriff and Sam stumbled along after him, only dimly aware of being hauled across the room.

Dean dumped him in a chair at the table and Sam blinked the spots out of his eyes, mind clearing, to find Dean securing his feet to the chair legs.

Sam rocked back, wrenching away to no avail. He sucked in breath after breath, nursing his bruised throat and trying to understand what was happening.

Dean was tying him down but not to the chair legs nearest his feet. He’d pulled both legs wide and used longer lengths of rope to secure Sam’s ankles to the back legs of the chair.

Sam knees were spread apart until they were bracketing the sides of the seat, and only the balls of his feet touched the ground with the way they were pulled back. It left him exposed and feeling off balance, he peered down at the conundrum and Dean looked back up at him.

“You alright?”

“Not really,” Sam croaked out.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you, I didn’t press hard enough to do lasting damage. You’re just gonna be sore for a while.” Dean winced as he said it.

Sam nodded numbly as Dean stood and pushed the chair so Sam was situated under the table.

“Thought you might’ve killed me.” Sam said hollowly.

Dean looked stricken at that, and then angry. He moved to touch Sam and Sam pulled away.

“Why would I want to kill you?” Dean asked, emotion thick in his voice.

Sam shrugged, twisting to see how tightly he was tied. “Why not? You don’t seem to care too much about hurting me.”

Sam was aware of Dean staring at him for a few moments before he clattered off to the stove, banging pots and plates and getting things out of the fridge.

Sam decided he probably could reach the knots, but only if he had his hands unchained, he couldn't maneuver enough to reach backwards with them restrained like they were. At least not without tipping the chair over or Dean noticing and interfering.

He rested his elbows on the tabletop and buried his face in his hands.

Escape attempt two was a bust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a question for those of you who've been waiting for an update; in a fic like this with a prolonged kidnapping/captivity situation - what do you find counts as a cliff hanger to you? 
> 
> Because in a way the whole fic is one long cliff hanger until the situation is resolved, but where do you draw the line? Have I left you hanging here or does this feel more like a space to breathe?
> 
> I'm conscious of not wanting to exhaust you all with fraught chapter ends over and over. I have an outline but it's flexible and I keep ending chapters in places I hadn't considered anyway so I'm happy to have thoughts on this!


	6. The Easiest Thing

“Here,” Dean’s voice broke the silence a few minutes later. Sam looked up to see the beer he was holding, perspiration beading on the glass, he flicked the bottle top off and slammed it down within Sam’s reach.

“It’s the middle of the day.” Sam said hoarsely.

“If you don’t want it, don’t drink it. Look like you could use it though,” Dean replied, voice hard.

Sam pulled the cold beverage towards him, cradled between both palms. He watched Dean moving around making scrambled eggs and cooking bacon, which seemed more like breakfast than lunch but he wasn’t going to mention it. He’d seen Dean take the cap off the bottle, he knew the beer hadn’t been tampered with but he was still uneasy. He warred over whether he wanted the way it might settle his stomach and whether he wanted to accept anything Dean gave him.

Thirst and an aching throat won out and Sam took a long, slow drag. He swallowed gently and then held the cool bottle to his sore neck. Shifting his weight a little, as much as his bonds allowed, he surveyed the room from this new vantage point.

There were even more sigils painted over the woodwork in the kitchen, and it seemed like Dean had run out of space because some of them even scrawled across the linoleum floor.

Their bags were all grouped underneath the window on the far side of furthest bed. Sam noted a small rucksack on top that he didn’t recognise, deciding it must be Dean’s he spent a few moments trying to guess what might be in it - what Dean might have thought worth carrying with him on his trek through the multiverse.

It sounded weird even voiced inside his own head and Sam grimaced, taking another small sip of beer. It soothed his throat and sat warmly in his empty stomach - no buzz, it wasn’t enough for that, but it brought a calming familiarity if nothing else.

Sam didn’t want to break the silence and it seemed Dean didn’t either, but it wasn’t long before he was placing two plates of food onto the tabletop and dropping into a chair opposite Sam.

He slid over one of the plates and a fork, it didn’t contain much, and even so Sam wasn’t sure he would be able to choke it down. But an indignant, hard part of him fumed at how little food Dean was willing to give him.

“You know I eat more than this?” he asked and looked up to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, well,” Dean’s eyes flicked away and back, “wasn’t sure you’d want much right now.”

“And you want me weaker, right?”

Dean’s shoulders tensed and he worked his jaw for a moment before giving a terse nod. “You’ll be fine a for few days without your gigantor portions, and it can’t harm -”

Sam snorted and Dean slapped a hand against the table. “You’re pitching a fit every opportunity you can, what do you expect me to do?”

“Give it up and let me go,” Sam said simply.

Dean considered him for a few seconds and Sam noticed a sadness creep into his hardened expression before he began shovelling food into his mouth and gestured for Sam to do the same.

It took Sam a few minutes longer, and a few more mouthfuls of beer, to settle his nerves enough to pick up the fork. It was awkward, handcuffs clunking every time he knocked them against the table, but when he noticed how Dean winced at the sound and shot distracted looks at Sam’s hands, Sam made a point of doing it more.

If Dean wanted to play at making him weaker, lessening his defenses, well - two could play at that game. Dean had buttons Sam could push too.

Twice Dean made an attempt to start talking, and twice Sam shot him a withering look. When Dean was halfway through his own overstuffed plateful he slowed down and sighed.

“We’re just gonna sit in silence? Really? You don’t think that’s a little awkward?”

Sam sighed, halfway through struggling to wiggle his fork under some of his remaining eggs, and pushed the food to one side.

“What is that you want to talk about? The weather? A case? _Your latest fuck?”_ he hissed.

Dean pulled a face.

“Something in there make you uncomfortable?”

“Sam,”

“I’m waiting, what is it? What do you have to say that you think will turn this into a normal family dinner?”

“I thought we could catch up, or something,” he said lamely. “Wanna know what you’ve been up to since… after the church, what your life has been like.”

Sam considered this, eyeing Dean with a frown. He wiggled his feet in the ropes and shifted his hands in their chains. Dean was looking to connect, looking to build bridges even. Sam hadn’t found a way out of his restraints with Dean watching his every move, but this, this was his other option - to get Dean believing they were growing closer, to make him let his guard down.

Dean picked at his food, elbows resting on the table, waiting for Sam to respond.

Sam took a long, measured breath and picked up his beer.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

 

* * *

 

 

They talked for a long time, long after the food was finished and the beer was gone. Sam’s ass was starting to ache and his feet felt a little numb despite his resolve to keep circulation going by wiggling his toes.

Sitting naked, cock resting exposed between his spread legs wasn’t exactly a recipe for relaxing either. He’d tried to keep Dean from noticing that he hadn’t grown any more comfortable but couldn't say if it had been successful.

He was hyper aware of his body, his vulnerability, of everything that Dean had done to him.

Everything he could still do.

His throat ached and Sam swore he could feel the bruises forming, blossoming under the skin, marking him. Proof of Dean’s mistreatment, of the force he was willing to use to keep Sam where he wanted him.

He shifted and grimaced, resting his hands awkwardly against the lip of the table. Dean stood abruptly, cutting off the story he’d been telling, that Sam had only half been listening to.

“We should probably get you out of those for a while,” he said quietly, gaze locked on Sam’s wrists, which had red, angry looking welts where Sam had pulled against the handcuffs.

Sam’s stomach flipped. Was Dean about to voluntarily take them off?

He kept his expression as neutral as possible while Dean disappeared and came back with two silk scarves and the handcuff keys in his hands.

He maneuvered Sam’s chair in a screeching arc away from the table and Sam grit his teeth at being spread legged in front of him again with nothing between the two of them. Sam leaned as far away as he could, looking warily at the items in Dean’s hands.

Dean took hold of Sam’s wrists and eased a metal cuff slightly out of the way, twisting Sam’s arm to get a look at how bad the chafing was.

“Not too bad, but a break will do some good,” he muttered more to himself than Sam. “You shouldn’t pull at them so much,” he said louder, catching Sam’s eye.

“Reflexes,” Sam grumbled, “it’s not like I want to hurt myself,”

“If you’d stop fighting -”

Sam glared and Dean let it go.

Sam couldn’t stop himself from resisting as Dean uncuffed him one hand at a time and wrapped the scarves around each wrist, but he managed to bite his tongue and not spit curses at Dean, if he was going to try winning Dean’s trust he had to start somewhere.

Within minutes Sam had both arms restrained behind him, tightly wound to the chair back. He jerked once testing the strength of the knots, and then slumped. The knots held and Dean was sliding to the floor between his knees. He could get out of the simple scarves given enough time, slippery as they were, but time was something he didn’t have right now.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to give you something,” Dean said, “something intimate, make you feel good, something you deserve.”

“I feel fine already you don’t need to,”

“You gotta have a pretty epic case of blue balls after earlier, you never did get to come.” _and whose fault was that?_ Sam thought acidly.

“I don’t mind,” he said instead, “I’m good, you don’t have to,” because whatever it was, he didn’t want it.

“Let me show how I can make you feel, how much better it can be when it’s me not some plastic imitation.”

And that made Sam want to laugh bitterly, as if he’d asked, _chosen,_ to be blindfolded and relentlessly fucked up the ass by a vibrating dildo.

He didn’t laugh though because Dean was licking his lips and leaning down, moving in, and it really didn’t seem like what came before was up for discussion when confronted with what was happening _right now._

“For the record,” Dean said in a low voice, “I watched you die one too many times before, and one of them stuck. I’m not - I _wouldn’t_ , let you die on me again. Are we clear? You’re too important to me, I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”

Which Sam thought was a strange thing to say, given how much Dean had violated him in the last half a day. He knew this was information he should file away for later consideration, it seemed critical - to realise Dean valued his life and wouldn’t endanger him in that way.

But he was too distracted to figure out how he could use that to his advantage with the way Dean was crouched between his knees, looking up with hunger and desire on his face.

Sam’s breath hitched when Dean moved a hand from his knee to stroke down his inner thigh. If he’d been free to move he’d have twisted away and been gone, as it was he jerked uselessly in place. His eyes were glued to Dean’s fingers and the way they trailed over his skin, and he couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t let Dean do this again.

He couldn’t, _he couldn’t_.

Dean leaned in and peppered the insides of his thighs with kisses, hands curling around the back of Sam’s calves as he settled into place on his knees. His two day old stubble scratched against Sam’s skin making it all too real, friction, new and visceral.

Sam shuddered, and pulled at his hands helplessly. Every deep breath pushed his bare chest out and made his thighs shake where they bracketed the chair. He had a sickening moment of feeling like a puppet arranged on display at someone else’s whims before Dean leaned in and he couldn’t think anything anymore.

Dean flicked his tongue out and swiped softly down the length of Sam’s cock. He reached the head and swirled his tongue around, once, twice, before opening his mouth and taking Sam in.

He just held Sam there with the head between his spread lips, and sucked, running his tongue over the slit. Sam’s body reacted to the perfect amount of stimulation, nerve endings firing and heartbeat quickening. Sam wanted to close his eyes, didn’t want to see, but when he did it all felt too much, too good - the perfect catalyst of sensations and his body yearned to find some release from the stress he'd been under.

Sam could feel the way his body wanted to give over to it and trembled with it as it overwhelmed him.

Dean effortlessly swallowed a little more of Sam’s cock into his wet, hot mouth, humming in approval. Sam began to harden, blood flow increasing and Dean sucked harder and licked away the first drops of pre-come.

Sam opened his eyes again, and flinched. His brother, _on his knees,_ cock filling his mouth, eyes half closed in concentration.

He choked, a sob aching in his bruised throat and it broke the dam that he’d been trying so hard to shore up. Without warning he was crying, silent tears rolling down his cheeks and catching on his lips.

He tasted the salt and his resolve buckled.

“Just fucking stop, this can’t be you, can’t be what you want. Not like this. I don’t want you like this!” he went on hurried, pleading, “Aren’t you listening? Why aren’t you hearing me, I don’t want you to blow me, or touch me or… do anything for me, I want you to give this up and untie me. I want this to stop, I need you to stop, pl-”

The word. _Please._ So simple, on the tip of his tongue.

And yet, Sam remembered.

He remembered the way he’d flung it from his lips the night before and how it threw Dean over the edge. How his begging, his use of that word had, brought Dean to orgasm.

And Sam felt sick with it, he daren’t say it again. _Refused_ to say it again.

He had no illusions that his dignity was intact, he was already pleading and urgently crying, but he wouldn’t say the thing that Dean was waiting for.

He wouldn’t say the thing that Dean took as encouragement, as if he were a lover eager for more.

His protests died unspoken. Silence fell between them as Dean pulled back and let Sam’s cock pop from his mouth. Dean watched him and Sam looked into the depths of his green, warm eyes; empty of any spark of life Sam would expect to find there, filled with selfish rage and entitlement, and a deep dark emptiness.

He couldn’t say please either.

He couldn't, he _wouldn't_.

“See, not so hard, don’t think too much. You always think too much.” Dean said softly. “Let me take care of you, it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

Dean squeezed his hands, rubbing soothing circles into Sam’s tense lower legs and leaned in again to swipe Sam’s half hard cock back into his mouth.

Sam’s tears didn’t stop and he yelped with shock when pleasure coursed through his veins.

Sam got lost to it, especially when Dean started moving. He bobbed his head and opened his mouth wider and wider, relaxing his throat, taking more of Sam down.

But then Sam would catch sight of Dean’s shoulder, or hand, or the tip of his ear and the world would crash back around him.

_Dean, Dean, Dean._

And he’d go softer again.

And again.

Any arousal Dean elicited chased away by the reminder it was his brother.

But it wasn’t, it wasn’t his Dean. His Dean would never, but this was real - this was happening. This copy, this flesh and blood moving mirror of his brother right here and he wouldn’t stop. He kept going. Every time Sam weakened he’d redouble his efforts.

“You’re not my brother,” Sam whispered, gulped, “You're not Dean,”

Dean hummed and Sam thrashed at the feel of it.

His cock was fully hard now, Dean’s persistence had paid off and Sam was consumed by it, all thoughts travelling south with his blood. Dean unlatched again, letting his cock spring free and curl up to his stomach. Sam looked down with detached confusion, wondering how it could respond so easily.

He watched Dean rush to his feet, watched his steps across sunslanted carpet, and looked up, blank, hoping it was over. Could it be?

Sam balked, heart hammering with some mix of terror and fury and humiliation to find Dean pointing his phone at him. The camera shutter whirred and Sam felt the air rush out of his lungs with it.

“Why?” he asked, barely audible, “Delete that!” louder now, firmer.

“I just want to remember, some mementos that this actually happened.” Dean shrugged.

“You - you’ve got more than one?” Sam said, voice rising in disbelief.

“You knew that, I did it last night too,”

Sam shook his head, cock wilting, so at least there was that.

“I was so out of it, I can’t remember,” he hesitated recalling _something_. “How could you do that? You - this? - isn’t this enough why would you document it?”

“Sammy,” and Sam flinched, “it’s only for me,” but Sam saw a strange glint there, somewhere between his words and his eyes, “no-one else will get to see them.”

Dean had pictures, proof, was proud of this? Was eager to relive it? Like it was all a game or a challenge and Sam was the prize. No, not the prize, the conquest.

Sam’s breath caught on his next inhale, eyes skittering around the room as everything seemed to spin, and then sharpened with laser focus as they landed on Dean.

And then Dean was kneeling below him again, and there wasn’t space for doubts or questions.

Dean knew every trick that Sam responded to; how much teeth, how much pressure, when to move and suck at his balls. He had Sam hard again within minutes, and began working him up to fever pitch all over again.

“You're not my brother,” Sam reiterated between gasps “you’re something else, something changed you, you can’t really be like this.”

Dean looked up at him, quiet with Sam’s cock between his teeth, but gaze steady and reverent. Dean didn’t answer, just hollowed his cheeks and blinked lazily.

Sam barely held back a groan and jerked, ass sore and groin aching, ropes biting into his skin.

Sam was alight with it, all blood rushing to his cock until he felt weak headed and floating. He strained, urging his limbs to move despite how they were held in place, needing to expel some energy, lurching ineffectually with every throb from his cock.

Dean’s tongue was insistent and he was skilled with it, laving up Sam’s cock as he bobbed away and adding suckling pressure as he moved back in.

_How can I hate you when you’re wearing his face?_

The scarves were twisted tight around his wrists and Sam twisted right back. Wringing his hands and pulling, clawing up, looking for something to loosen. His temperature was rising and his blood was pumping faster by the minute.

Dean didn’t falter when Sam got sweaty, even lifted a hand to caress his balls in time with his thrusts. And, _god_ no, that was all his body wanted; more stimulation, more movement, more heat.

He felt a throb run through him, hard and aching, and it took everything in him not to thrust his hips up, not to try and pulse with this and let it carry him away.

_How can I not hate you when you’re doing this?_

Dean got his way in the end, Sam went loose, panting with the onslaught as Dean finally took him down as far as he could. Throat working and tongue massaging as Sam’s orgasm built, crested, and burned through him.

Dean swallowed all of it. Sam swallowed his broken cry and hung his head.

Dean pulled off, panting hard, lips wet with spittle and come. Sam’s spent cock fell from his lips but he kneeled up and cleaned off the last of Sam’s come with his tongue.

Sam choked and moaned, trying to keep his reactions small as Dean worked over the head and trailed fingers across his heaving abs and trembling legs.

Sam hadn’t realised more tears were dropping from his eyelashes until Dean stood up and cradled his face, cupping his chin oh so gently and planting kisses on his brow.

“You did good,” Dean said, pride in his voice, “god, you're so good.”

Sam was stock still and barely breathing, shocked into inaction - until Dean kissed his cheekbones, and started catching up the tears with his lips.

Then he tried to wrench his head away, he huffed and rolled his neck, looking for a way out of Dean’s embrace.

“Get off,” he ground out.

Dean held him fast, palms on his cheeks and fingers curling round his skull. He looked deeply into Sam’s eyes when he said “Didn’t it feel good? Don’t you see, what we can do for each other?”

Sam blinked at him, utterly confused. Was he sending such mixed signals? Was Dean really not seeing what he’d done or did he think it didn’t matter?

“It didn’t feel good, and neither do I! I never asked for this, I told you I didn’t want it,”

“Want or not, I’m asking how it _felt_ \- physically.” Dean countered. “Tell me I didn’t hit all your buttons?” he let go of Sam’s face and moved to perch on the table edge. “Wasn’t it nice, getting that release finally? How well I know you, I know it sparked something, something you needed but won’t let yourself have.”

“I don’t need you Dean, I don’t need this,” Sam shook his bound limbs “there’s nothing about this that’s good or enjoyable.”

“Your cock disagrees,” Dean said with a smirk.

“My cock isn’t in charge of my thoughts." Sam growled.

“But it was for a minute there, I know you let go, or almost let go. If you’ll just give over to it, you’ll see.”

Sam reeled, as Dean stood and started clearing the table.

“And what then, what if on some carnal level I get pleasure out of what you do to me? What the hell do you think that would mean?”

Dean shrugged as he dumped the plates and frying pans into the sink.

“I think it’s a start, I think it’s somewhere to work from.” he turned to face Sam and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “And then I think we see where it leads us. See if I can get back the part of you that I’m missing.”

Sam clenched his jaw, scowling, anger coursing through his exhausted body, while Dean did the dishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dean is at least attempting to be a manipulative asshole, in case that wasn't clear.
> 
> If I've missed any tags let me know, and also hi new subscribers! 
> 
> Comment reactions and kudos always loved <3


	7. Call It Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter update, but with apologies for The wait!
> 
> I don't know if anyone's noticed that I've been naming the chapters after sections of dialogue? So this is a service announcement to clue everybody in. And yes that means they don't necessarily _mean_ a lot unless you make the same connections I do, it's just something I find that sounds flashy to hook you all in ;)

By the time Dean saw fit to drag the chair, and it's unwilling occupant, back to the bed Sam was shaky with the strain on his muscles from the position; any strength offered by his measly portion of food was gone.

It didn't take much for Dean to untie one hand and cuff it to the bed, leaving Sam trapped, so he let himself be untangled out of the chair and shifted up against the headboard - dragging a pillow onto his naked lap for some meagre protection.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Dean asked, reclining and crossing his legs on the bed next to Sam. So they did. At least the television was humming quietly and Dean was watching, but Sam kept feeling Dean’s gaze flick to the left, looking at him and he only shrank away further, muscles twisting into knots of tension.

A fog had settled, clouding everything, and it took a long time before his anger rose up enough to clear it away. He felt himself grasp for it, and it slipped away again and again.

“Hah, I like this one,” Dean said later, flicking past an episode of The Twilight Zone.

Dean was keeping a running commentary, snippets here and there about what was on, when he’d last seen it, when he’d first seen it, what would be better to watch. Sam knew what he was doing, he was trying to make things seem normal, comfortable. He was trying to let things settle and it grated on Sam’s nerves. He didn’t want to get used to spending time with Dean, not like this. Not this Dean.

“You’re exhausting,” Sam muttered back eventually, annoyance finally risen to a place of clear headedness.

“Don't get pissy just ‘cause you're not in charge of the remote,” Dean said, waving it just out of reach with a smug look on his face.

Sam didn't justify that with a response. Dean took one look at his scowl and sighed, flicking the television off and scrambling off the bed. He rooted around in their belongings and produced a pack of cards, shuffling them back and forth and practicing dexterity tricks - flipping cards over and back, slotting them neatly back into the deck, something to keep his hands busy.

Sam watched him with growing unease, something eating at him that he couldn’t put his finger on. Every mannerism was Dean, practiced, careful, methodical, nothing left to chance. Dean _could_ be still, he could wait and watch and bide his time but more often than not he liked to have something to occupy him, something to make the time pass. The Dean in front of him seemed even more frantic with it, had more fizzing nervous energy that he was channeling.

Sam hated drawing these comparisons, between the Dean he knew and the one he was trapped with but he couldn’t help it. He was making lists and cross referencing in his head without even wanting to, his Dean, this Dean, brother and not.

His thoughts coalesced in one blinding instant, punching breath from his lungs. What was it Dean had said after taking the pictures? _They’re just for me_

For him? Or _for him?_

Would he really do that? Why would he? And yet there had been something in his gaze as he said that had twisted in Sam’s thoughts.

Sam felt sick, and he had to know. He tried to lurch to his feet, to get off the bed, but with his right hand caught up in the handcuff and chained to the headboard he was pulled short with a clank. 

“Sam?”

With his arm outstretched, pulling uncomfortably tight, Sam got his feet to the floor and breathed harshly through his nose.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, moving to stand.

Sam threw up his unchained hand, palm out, a message to stop Dean in his tracks. A demand to back off.

“You don’t look so good,” Dean said hesitantly.

And Sam laughed. A wild and wavering thing that brought him halfway to his knees, leaning heavily on the mattress.

“Yeah I probably don’t,” he said as the laughter trickled away. He looked up at Dean, sizing him up, the sickening idea rolling around in his head.

“I want to see the pictures,”

Dean looked shocked, and rubbed absently at the back of his head. “I’m not sure,”

“They’re of me, let me see them,” Sam said, gaze steady, steadier than his pounding heart anyway. He was aware he must look a little pitiable, worry making his skin pale and it felt too tight, and his hands clenched into fists. He straightened his back, trying to stand at his full height, refusing to cower away from this.

Dean hesitated and then drew out the phone from his pocket. He turned it over in his hands, considering, and that’s all Sam really wanted to see.

“That’s my phone,”

“Yeah,” Dean conceded.

“Why are you using my phone?”

“It’s got a better camera, mine’s just a cheap burner, there’s not much too it.” Dean was looking at the screen, thumbs moving as he pulled the pictures up.

“So it’s not because my phone has Dean’s number in?”

Dean went very still, and Sam’s heart increased it’s incessant pounding.

“It’s not so you could send him messages and know that he’d open them because they look like they’re from me?”

Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I don’t think this is a good line of conversation,” he said quietly.

“I don’t see you denying it!” Sam felt weak now, wobbly, but his anger was screaming through his veins and he could ignore the crawling horror for a minute, just a minute longer.

“Because I can’t, unless you want me to lie to you,”

“Why? Why would you do that? Isn’t it enough to humiliate me without making it worse? God, Dean, what are you playing at?” 

“I never wanted to humiliate you, if you’re not okay with this” he gestured between them, “that’s your issue, there’s nothing wrong with sharing love like this,”

Sam felt himself lean forward incredulously, eyes bugging out of his head. “Maybe if it’s consensual, or two sided, but you didn’t let me even get to know you - how can you call it love, what you’ve done?”

“Have I hurt you?”

“That’s not the point,”

“It’s part of the point, it’s my point. What we can share defies explanation, I know it’s not typical and I know you didn't expect it, but when has anything in our lives ever been normal?”

“Normally I’m not afraid of being alone in a room with you,” Sam said, and was shocked at the words coming out of his mouth.

“You don’t have to be, I’ll make it so you’re not, I swear.”

Sam shook his head, and felt the panic rising up again. “But why send them to Dean, why taunt him? I don’t want him to see me like this,”

“I wanted him to see that there’s more to you than some sibling he can pal around with and abandon to go hook up with other people.”

“That’s not all we are to each other,”

“He should get to see what I have with you, to know all of you. See what he’s missing, how you look when you come apart with nothing left between us. He’s been remiss, letting all that slip through his fingers, I’ll be damned if I don’t try and fix it, you and him.”

Sam hunched in on himself, the will to hold tall and proud and sure ebbing away.

“But, he won’t think that, he’ll just see,” and god, _fuck_ , what would he have seen? What would he think? He’d be pissed, he’d have anger enough to shake the world at seeing Sam tied down and violated, but would he ever look at Sam the same way? Sam had been counting on getting out of here and getting his brother back, returning to the safety of the relationship they’d always had. That Dean would be steadfast and strong enough for the both of them. But now, how would that be possible when they’d _both_ be changed by it?

Sam felt himself shaking, and gripped the headboard with his cuffed right hand. He knelt gingerly on the side of the bed feeling angry as hot tears choked at the back of his throat. His ears were ringing and he felt small, so small, and weak to be coming apart like this. He could barely even make himself move let alone think or speak. He should keep yelling at Dean, he should keep railing and ranting until he was too hoarse to talk. But he just waited there, while his panic spiralled.

All at once there was a body in front of him, garbled words making their way to his ears, and Dean’s face worriedly inches from his own. Strong arms wrapped around him and Sam tried to fling him off, he yelled and pushed and tried to move backwards.

But Dean was all around him, he settled more steadily on the bed and shushed Sam, one arm holding tight across his shoulders the other circling his waist.

“Get off, get off,” 

Sam couldn’t breathe, he beat at Dean with his free arm, clawing and pounding. Dean just gathered it up and curled it around Sam’s back, gripping it with the hand that had been around his waist in an unrelenting hold. Sam thrashed weakly, moaning, stuck and unable to break free of Dean’s embrace.

“No, no, leave me alone,”

Dean cradled his head, pulling it into the crook of his shoulder.

“Breathe with me, come on, slow, in out,”

Sam made a strangled sound, shaking his head. He didn’t want to, and he couldn’t anyway.

“Can’t, I can’t,” Sam choked out, struggling for air.

“Now, Sam, slow down, you can do it,”

Sam’s lungs burned, his head swimming, and he gasped. He spun out, and only the firm feel of Dean’s body pressed to his kept him from spiralling uncontrollably. He leaned against him, and let the swell and sway of Dean’s breathing become a rhythm to copy.

Dean rocked him for what felt like a long time, repeating soft soothing words to encourage Sam to take even bigger, slower breaths. And then, eventually, saying nothing until Sam sagged in his arms and let himself fall away, let himself take this small amount of comfort.

As his thoughts came back online Sam realised that letting Dean offer comfort was insane, taking reassurance from him made no sense whatsoever. And yet from the exhausted recesses of his mind he knew he needed it, and at the forefront of his mind he knew Dean would take it as a step forward. As a move toward better trust, a change between them.

Finally he gulped in resolve and said, quietly, “Water?”. He let Dean settle him more comfortably on the bed, and drank his fill, and rested his tired eyes.

The remainder of the day passed like tar. Slow, hot, viscous. With never enough air or quiet around him Sam struggled to think, or maybe it was that he couldn't think past what had happened. Dean sat on the bed with him for a long time, not touching, just there and Sam could barely look at him. 

Sam refused food, knowing he shouldn’t, but too tired to care. And maybe, he thought, it would make Dean more likely to give him more the next day to make up for it, but mostly he just hated the thought of eating. 

Dean manhandled, cuffed, and guided him to the bathroom twice more before the day was out. Sam put up a token resistance but knew he didn't have the energy to fight properly. The second time, with his hands secured behind his back Dean took charge and not only held his dick over the toilet bowl for him but used a warm cloth to wipe his face and scrub a little of the dried sweat and grime from his body.

Sam stood frozen, stoic. It felt like holding back a dam, and there were cracks where his resolve broke, but he didn't give Dean a reason to choke him out or knock him down. He thought of the surety of the mattress and the empty quiet motel room, of the long night ahead where he might not sleep at all. But he'd try, he had to, he had to regain some strength somewhere and the sweet release of unconsciousness had a strong appeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap on a cracker we reached the end of the first day that took for-fucking-ever and you're all stars for sticking with me.  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Hopefully more updates to come asap, two more chapters almost finished!


	8. This is Your Solution

It was a strange position to be in, Sam mused as he pulled his aching body and tired mind back into the land of waking. He had no reason to fear for his life, he wasn’t in mortal peril, so in some ways he could relax. Dean wasn’t going to let anything harm them, and it would be hard for anything to get past all the warding Dean had decorated the walls with. But his senses were on high alert, his body trained to keep tabs on the threat, it’s just that the threat nearby was _Dean._

He’d wanted to sleep facing the other bed, wanted to be able to see where Dean was, but his shoulder, arm and ribs were painfully bruised where he’d been crushed into the doorframe the previous day and he couldn’t lay on them. Dean had laid him on his stomach so he could twist his head either way, and secured both arms, and that's how he'd spent the night. Sleep had been slow to come, and even harder to keep, but he’d scraped a few hours. There was no confusion over his circumstances upon waking, the dread of it was already heavy in his stomach.

He was sore and stiff now, desperate to change positions. He gingerly lifted his head, groaning as his shoulders protested the movement, and surveyed what he could see of the room. No Dean, the other bed was empty, only rumpled sheets showing his absence. He could hear the shower running and laid there tense and annoyed, resigned to waiting for Dean to finish.

He tried to feel around with his hands, looking for a loose screw or pin in the bed frame that he could use as a lock pick but there was nothing within reach. His fingers were tingly and he was curling and uncurling his fists to get the blood flowing when he heard low moans coming from the bathroom.

Sam froze, breathing in sharply, indignant at realising why Dean was taking so long. He craned his neck, looking unwavering at the ajar door to the bathroom. He didn’t want to know, but he also couldn’t let it pass without knowing. For the most part the pounding pattern of shower water drowned out any noise Dean was making, but there was the occasional drawn out moan. Minutes passed and he heard Dean panting, heaving breaths in the steamy air before one final cut off shout that sounded far too close to home, far too close to _Sam._

Sam burned red, felt the heat spread across his face, chest, and even down his back. He couldn’t force himself to unglue his eyes from the doorway. He didn’t know what to think, only that it felt like another small violation, to wake to Dean jacking off to thoughts of him. His own slight morning wood waned and left him limp after the humiliation.

He finally turned and buried his face back into the mattress as he heard Dean shuffle across the cheap linoleum floor.

Dean was humming and Sam could hear him moving with a slight spring in his step.

“You awake yet?”

Sam grunted in response and twisted as far as he could, “Unfortunately,”

“Ready to get up or you wanna be grumpy in bed some more?”

“My arms hurt,”

“Well, let's do something about that then.” Dean said. He sat down on the bed and placed a hand on Sam’s back, beginning to rub in small circles. Sam flinched and tried to inch away. Dean sighed.

“No massage? I could make it worth your while?” he said, with a sing song note in his voice.

“Just undo the handcuffs would you?”

“Fine, spoil all the fun,”

With a hand freed he sat up with a wince. Dean wasn’t about to let him off easy though apparently because the handcuff was still around his wrist and in a blink Dean had fastened the other end around his own arm.

Sam gaped, floored.

“Undo it,”

“It’ll be easier this way, less need to fight you on everything,”

“I won’t,” Sam swallowed, looking for a lie that would sound like the truth, “I’m just sick of them, if you could give me some space it might help,”

Dean raised his eyebrows, “Have you really changed your tune that much overnight?”

“Well,”

“Because I’ve known you since before you could even hold your own head up and you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, so no, I don’t think you’re ready to have “space” yet. I don’t fancy having a face to fist meeting with your hands, and I think you’d make a go of it if you could.”

“So this is your solution? Join us at the hip?”

“Hey if it works, it works,” Dean shrugged.

Sam was going to argue more, but he caught a whiff of coffee on Dean’s breath and he could use some of that, so he begrudgingly went along with it, but that didn’t mean he was giving in. He made sure he was very clear on that, thinking the thought over and over; Dean wanted him pliant and he could play along.

           ~              ~             ~

The morning went by slowly, and thickly, too much left unsaid and too much Sam didn’t want to touch talking on. He declined showering, adamant that he had no reason to. He kept trying to cross his arms and being pulled short by the chain connecting him to Dean.

And _fuck_ was he tired of being naked, of feeling like he was on display. If Dean was trying to be subtle about watching him, he wasn’t being successful. Sam assumed he didn’t care about being obvious, his intentions were perfectly clear, and his morning happy hour proved that well enough.

With all that though, Dean didn’t try to touch him sexually. They bumped shoulders, and knocked elbows - there wasn’t exactly a long length of chain between them - but Dean didn’t put his hands anywhere they weren’t supposed to be.

Sam was almost glad to be restrained back on the bed by midday, which was fucked up and he knew it, but it meant not being stuck in Dean’s buddy system anymore. He inwardly cursed at not finding an opening to break free, and he had to remind himself that he was playing a longer game now, he was waiting to be given a opening - not to take one.

They talked, or at least, Dean talked. Sam tried to be pleasant, meek almost. He just needed Dean to believe he was _trying_ to forge a relationship at the very least, he didn’t necessarily have to be successful at it.

“I’m not going to try and get up to anything while you piss just go already,”

“You seem kinda annoyed, not like you’re happy to just sit here,”

“You’d be annoyed too if you had someone pestering you about bathroom usage,” Sam sighed, “look im trying to be ordinary and open isn’t that what you want?”

Dean gave him half a hesitant nod and walked quickly into the adjoining room without shutting the door.

         ~              ~              ~

“We could play poker?”

“Kinda hard one handed,” Sam jostled his cuffed wrist.

“Oh, right,”

“You could -”

“Not yet,”

“I can’t exactly fight my way out from this disadvantage Dean, naked and tired and you watching me like a hawk,”

“Maybe later, I don’t want to make it harder on you,”

Sam frowned at him, asking without words what he meant. Gathering information on Dean’s state of mind had to help didn't it?

“You’re gonna feel like you have to try and run and get away, like it’s the thing you’re supposed to do, if you _can’t_ then that helps, right?”

“I guess,” Sam hedged his bets, if Dean was going to trust him enough to leave him untied at some point, pretending to follow along made sense. Sam was no less confused though, everything was so backwards and contorted.

“You’ll get there, I can figure it out until you do.” Dean nodded, agreeing with himself even if Sam didn’t.

        ~              ~             ~

Sam got hungry, his stomach an aching, hollow reminder of all his disadvantages. Breakfast had been half a poppy seed bagel and some coffee and he couldn’t remember eating more than a couple of handfuls of mostly stale chips for lunch. Dean had seemed more interested in getting Sam drunk through the afternoon than providing food. It had worked part way at least, on such an empty stomach Sam had ended up light headed, dizzy with the rush that spread through his veins.

But it had only served to make him more irritable and more on edge. It hadn’t felt good at all. Sam regretted going along with it, regretted drinking the beers and the whiskey, but he’d hoped it would help - hoped it would show Dean he wasn’t being stubborn, that he was open to _something_ at least.

The conversation - stilted and one sided as it had mostly been - turned to old acquaintances, old buddies, the fates of people Dean had known in his own reality.

“What about Bobby?” he asked eagerly.

“No,” Sam said, heavy with saying it, “died fighting the Leviathans,” he was terse and short, elaborating didn’t appeal at all.

Dean’s face fell, “I’d hoped that maybe here he was still alive,” he said shifting and uneasy.

“If he was he’d kick your ass.” Sam replied with a shrug, his mind was clearing out the alcohol taint but his mouth hadn’t replaced the filter yet.

“What for?” Dean asked, indignant. Sam just rattled his handcuff in response.

Sam expected Dean to react badly, make excuses or become sullen or demanding, but he broke into a grin that Sam couldn’t understand.

“What?”

“There he is, the Sam we know and love,”

“What do you mean?”

“You always tell the truth when you’re drunk, and I like it, you should have that fight in you I don’t want you to hide it from me.”

Sam huffed, turning away. What Dean wanted and what he didn’t remained a mystery, he wanted Sam to be exactly like himself and completely different all at once.

“I’m serious, Sam,” and Dean cupped his hands under Sam’s chin, tilting Sam’s face back toward him, “I need you to be yourself, I need you to tell me where you’re at and what you’re thinking so I know what’s going on with you.”

Sam eyed him warily, it would all be so much easier if he could _think_ , if he could have time to process and not only be reacting all the time.

“Well right now I’d _seriously_ like to use the bathroom, in private, and maybe get some clothes while I’m at it.”

Dean sighed, “Alright, bathroom we can do, but we have to keep talking too,”

Sam wanted to punch him.

*

Dean rang for a pizza as day settled into evening. He rang to get it _delivered_. Sam tried not to look too perplexed, or alight with ideas. Mostly he felt uneasy, and he hoped that showed.

“Okay, it’s gonna be here in about twenty minutes, and I’m going down to the parking lot to get it,” Dean looked Sam up and down, appraising, and fixed him with a level stare. “Do I need to make sure you’re… secure?”

Sam tensed, he had to play this right.

“More secure than this?” as had become expected he had a cuff cinched tight around his right wrist and attached to the headboard. It was calculated on Dean’s part, his dominant hand being the one restrained. It itched but Sam knew that was more psychological than anything.

“Yeah, like, immobilised,” Dean flinched as he said it and Sam thought that might be a good sign for him. If Dean was uncomfortable with what he was doing? That was helpful.

“I know I’m stuck here Dean,” Sam let every bit of annoyance creep into his voice, no need to pretend he was okay with any of it, Dean didn’t expect that of him yet. “What would be the point of trying anything?”

He moved as far away from the headboard as he could, stretching his free arm into empty space, “You’ve barely left me room to move as it is!”

Dean nodded, lips pursed. “Don’t try anything, just sit tight, it’s fine okay? I’ll hardly be gone,” he seemed to be persuading himself more than anything.

They waited out the minutes in impatient silence, Dean pacing and Sam biting his tongue. Dean threw one last look at the room before sliding the door open a sliver and disappearing into the night.

Sam breathed, steadied his nerves, and got to work.

First he reached around the back of the night stand looked for loose nails or staples, or even wood chips, to use a means of escape. Finding none he quickly opened the draw and found only old magazines and the television instruction manual. The clock was old and had plastic casings, and nothing he could snap off without it being noticeable.

He took another glance at the cuff on his wrist, testing the weight of the chain with his left hand and seeing if it held. It did, and he let it go with a dash of irritation. Stupid metal, stupid fucking situation aside, he didn’t have time.

He flung his eyes around the room, he couldn’t reach anything besides the bed… the bed and the walls. The warding was noticeably absent from the flat surfaces nearest to him, Dean had very clearly tried to make sure there weren’t many he could touch from his bed. Standing up he could reach the bottom of two sigils, neither he recognised but it was worth a shot.

He stretched up and fingered them, marker pen not paint, which would be harder to rub away. With a sigh he resigned himself to it being the best bet he had and scratched a nail back and forth through one and then the other.

He toyed with scrubbing at them harder but didn’t want it to be noticeable. A glance at the door revealed nothing, no sign of Dean yet. He couldn’t see out the windows but straining his ears he heard nothing.

Tentatively he climbed onto the bed, finding his balance on the springy mattress he reached up - two more swirling designs were within reach, a third with angles and straighter lines he could just touch with outstretched fingertips. And that one he recognised, it was a blinding sigil. Useful for hiding precious objects. Dean had really gone all out with these, covering every base he could think of for infiltration or detection.

Again he scratched a nail through the black pen, and it didn’t seem to make any difference but even a small nick might be enough. He turned back to the door, wondering if he should risk it, but there was still no sign or sound of Dean.

He rubbed harder at all three, up away from their eyeline it would be harder to see them and he almost whooped when he felt the wallpaper snag under his fingernail, ripping slightly and most definitely breaking the mark. He leaned back, trying to determine if it was noticeable, squinting.

His arm ached against the metal cuff where he’d stretched to its full reach and he slumped his shoulder slightly to give it a rest, rolling the joint. He turned to sit down again, had almost moved, when the door banged open.

Sam scrambled, losing his footing and landing hard on his ass on the bed. He saw one glimpse of the outside world through the open door, car lights and buildings, clouds and twilight tinged clouds, before Dean slammed it shut.

“Can barely move huh?” Dean growled, stalking forwards, dropping the pizza box on the floor with a thud. “No point in trying anything, no reason to fight? That’s what you’ve been telling me all day isn’t it?”

“Dean,”

“No! No, Sam, you don’t get to make excuses, I watched you just now I saw how much you tried, you can’t hide it!”

“I don’t know what else to do! You know me, you know I have to look, to be sure, I have to _know_ what I’m up against,”

“So you weren’t trying to weaken the protection I’ve laid out? Weren’t trying to find a hole to worm your way through?”

“I can’t just sit here, I don’t know how to not reach for… for something, it’s like a puzzle I have to solve,” Sam knew he was scrambling and the look on Dean’s face told him he wasn’t buying it.

“This is why I asked if you needed to be tied down, why I gave you an out, and you said you didn’t require it. What am I supposed to think?”

“I,”

“Shut up, don’t even bother,” Dean said icily. He reached for the rope, for the coils and coils of rope, and Sam slunk back shaking his head.

“Don’t tie me up again, I’m here, aren’t I still here?”

“But you wouldn’t be if you had any say in it and that’s exactly what I was worried about. Clearly you still need the choice taken away for now, until we’ve progressed further than this,”

Sam clenched his teeth, steeling himself, he had one arm and two legs free, maybe Dean wouldn’t get the better of him.

He was wrong but he tried.

“I hoped we were past this, keeping you tied down all day, I thought you were trying to be comfortable with me,” he wrestled Sam backwards, knocking his head against the slats of the bed frame, “but I’ll do this for as long as it takes. If you need to know you can’t wriggle away to relax, that’s what we’ll do.”

“I was, I _am_ , trying but you’re not making it easy!”

“Well then let me make it easier,”

Dean had leverage, strength, and the upper hand. He was tying Sam’s left hand, pulling the knots tight and twisting the rope in a way that even Sam’s teeth wouldn’t easily undo when Sam kneed him in the back.

He felt the impact, not just through his own legs but in the way Dean swayed, and then Dean was off him, looping rope and catching a leg. He moved to the end of the bed, caught up both of Sam’s feet, and ruthlessly yanked the rope around them until his ankles touched. And then further so they didn't just touch, his legs were crushed together.

“Fuck, it’s too tight,”

“It’s really not,” Dean said with a note of finality in his voice.

Sam squirmed with his feet pinned and pulled his knees up to his body as he tried to writhe his way free. Dean sat down and corded and knotted another section of rope around Sam’s knees, making him feel like a mermaid, or a mummy laid out on the bed.

“You’re such a dick,” Sam yelled, pulling at his hand where it was part way secured to the bed.

“You’re not exactly pleasant to be around right now either, don’t put this all on me,” he added another rope to Sam’s ankles, pulling it taut and securing it below the end of the mattress. Sam grunted, he could squirm but he could barely even lift his legs.

Dean grabbed and furiously unknotted the way he’d fixed up Sam’s hand before pulling it down and passing the rope between Sam’s squashed thighs. Sam bucked as his hand snaked between his pressed together legs, and gasped as the friction of the rope followed it.

Dean wound and looped the rope, securing Sam’s wrist tightly to his thigh before he sat back, out of breath.

“We could’ve just had pizza, could’ve just had a nice evening but you ruined it, and now I have to fix it.”

“What do you think is ruined? Nothing happened!”

“You messed with the sigils, you compromised our protection, don't fuck with me,”

“How do you think I'm the one with the upper hand here?”

“Tell me which ones.”

“I didn't,”

Dean held up a finger, humming a no through his closed lips, working his jaw in anger.

Sam wanted to head butt the expression right off his face.

“Tell me which ones.”

Sam sighed. “No.”

Dean grimaced, half a smile, half a twist of resignation.

“You know,” he said climbing off the bed and taking off his outer shirt, “I've been trying all day, I haven't touched you have I?”

Sam begrudgingly shook his head, because he hadn't.

“I thought, after your slide into panic yesterday, why not give him a break? Let him get used to the idea, let him want it,”

“I heard you in the shower, it's not like you haven’t thought about it,” Sam countered.

“Yeah, so? You're the one I fantasize about so sue me. But I didn't act on it did I?”

“And I'm supposed to be grateful that you didn't rape me today is that it?” Sam spat.

Dean sucked on his lips, and slowly bit one between his teeth. “Just realise that I didn't plan on the next time I touched you being like this."

Sam went cold, eyes darting to Dean's empty hands. “What…?”

“I want to be gentle with you I really do, but I need to know, so which ones Sam? Tell me and I won't have to do this,”

“You said you didn’t want to hurt me,” Sam said, small and low. He questioned it now, questioned why he had felt so sure that Dean wouldn’t. Maybe he just wanted to believe it too much.

“I don’t have to,”

Dean straddled him, resting his weight on Sam’s abdomen and Sam bucked. He had no idea what was coming, no idea what Dean intended until both hands cupped his face caressing his cheeks, his lips, and then clamped down.

Sam threw his head back, arching his neck but Dean’s hands stayed put, one forcing his jaw closed and the other covering his nose and mouth. Sam desperately tried to suck in air, and he got a little, a tiny sliver, but it sucked Dean’s hands tighter against his skin.

Then there was nothing, no slips of unobstructed airway, no escape.

“Which sigils? Tell me which ones and we only have to do this once,”

Sam glared as he thrashed, trying to roll his head, fear screaming through his mind at being denied the right to breathe. Just as he started to swim, to have his vision waiver, Dean released him. He gulped in breath after breath, stars in his eyes while his heart rabbited in his chest.

“Which ones?”

“You’re not going to kill me! You said so!”

Dean shook his head and reached out again, Sam twisted but he had nowhere to go. He got one more lungful before Dean closed him off again.

“I don’t have to be threatening to kill you to make you wish I would stop,” he said it almost sadly.

Sam convulsed, his shoulders wrenching back as his lungs tried to expand. This time his hearing went funny too, cotton wool thick and ringing, and dark spots appeared overlaying his view of the room.

“Which ones?” Dean said, removing one hand but leaving the other brushing over Sam’s neck. Sam took a shaky breath, a little whimpering noise following it.

“I don’t want to help you keep me here,”

“I know, but you need to tell me, so which ones?”

Sam shook his head, eyes determined. He could withstand this, he could, Dean would give up eventually. He had to, didn’t he? But as air was stolen away again and he realised he needed it so much sooner than before, his body already running low on oxygen, he began to wonder. It didn’t seem any effort to Dean, it didn’t seem to be bothering him at all. What if he kept it up for hours, or all night? Or until the oxygen deprivation did damage that Dean couldn’t see or guess at?

“I’m doing this to protect us,” Dean said, leaning over so they were almost nose to nose. Sam couldn’t see anything clearly, his thoughts slowing down and his body screaming. His head pounded and he screwed up his eyes trying to lessen the pressure throbbing in his skull.

As suddenly as it started it was over again but Sam barely got a breath before Dean cut him off once more.

“These are to keep you safe, keep us clear of danger,”

_To keep me locked away, to make sure no one can find me_

Air, blackness, words, questions. Round and round until he lost count of how long it went on for.

Sam was floating and panicking. Desperate.

He choked out one word _“stop”_. And the next time, one more _“okay”_.

And the next time, Dean let him gasp several long breaths, and then cocked his head in expectation. Sam’s lungs were burning, his mouth felt bruised, his body trembled. He gingerly touched a tongue to his dry, crushed lips, and winced.

He nodded. “I’ll tell you,”

He sank into the bed held steady in his ropes and let the remaining tears fall freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you there'd be another one soon. Two chapters on the trot with no smut in them, I feel like such a tease.  
> Hope you like it though!
> 
> Comments always appreciated and you can find me on tumblr at Oddsocksandstuff if you want to


	9. Don't Test Me

“This one?”

“Yes, and the one above it.”

“And that’s it? They're the last ones?”

“Yes.”

Dean leaned over Sam’s prone form, gripped his chin and held firm. Sam returned his cool stare, tired but unblinking, until Dean seemed satisfied. He nodded once and then left Sam alone to redraw the sigils.

Sam’s thoughts worked furiously trying to pinpoint where he’d gone wrong. It had been a solid plan, hadn’t it? A scratch here, a lessening of the defences there, it had merit. He shouldn’t have risked doing it for so long perhaps, but he had been careful, he’d listened for Dean’s return at every pause. He just hadn’t heard him coming.

Dean had a pen in hand, stomping angrily across the floor to shore up this scrolling spellwork. He wasn’t being particularly light on his feet now, but he must have made sure to sneak back towards the room.

“It was a test, wasn’t it?” Sam said dully.

“And for the first time ever you failed."

The tears tracks from his watering eyes had dried, crusting his cheeks, and Sam rubbed his face against his outstretched right arm trying to clear them and failing. Failing at everything.

“Don’t even bother trying to apologise by the way, I wouldn’t buy it right now.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Dean threw him a dirty look, anger etched into his face with hard lines. He was pacing back and forth across the room now, eyes wandering over other black lined marks, checking and touching and glancing from one to another.

“I didn’t do anything to those, I couldn’t reach.” Sam piped up testily. If he could have reached across the room he wouldn't still be stuck on the damn bed.

“Shut up.”

“What are you expecting to find?”

“It’s really none of your concern,” Dean said, “so shut. The fuck. Up.”

Sam sighed, wriggling, pulling at the ropes wound around his limbs. Dean swatted hard at the meat of his thigh and Sam yelped with shock.

“Just lie still won’t you? Stop fucking around.”

Sam tried to glare, tried to feel anything other than hollow, used up, and empty. He could smell the pizza, mouth wateringly tempting and hot, but Dean was acting as though it didn’t exist. Sam noticed a satin scarf in his hands and tensed.

Dean didn’t say anything just laid it over his face and knotted it so tightly that he couldn’t open his eyes. He jerked as Dean touched his manacled wrist without warning.

“You said something about being sick of these?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, hesitant.

“Okay.”

He felt his hand uncuffed and lowered, he tried to lock up and resist but Dean easily wrapped rope around his wrist and between his legs again until both arms were secured to his thighs.

“Why,” Sam cleared his throat, “what are you doing?”

“Fixing your screw up.”

Something touched Sam’s head and he flinched before realising it was only a pair of headphones.

“I need you to be quiet and not interfere, is that going to be a problem?”

“No?” Sam replied with a question.

“‘Cause I can make sure you’re quiet if you want?”

Sam closed his mouth in response. The meaning was clear: shut up or suffer more.

“Don’t test me again, Sam.”

Sam nodded. He just wanted to eat, or sleep, or maybe both if he could. He was sluggish, tired and drained. Music blasted into his ears at an uncomfortably high volume but he caught himself before he could yell in surprise.

He estimated the music pounded on his eardrums for around thirty minutes, eight songs passed and though he heard Dean’s voice muttering and chanting in the quieter sections he couldn’t hear the words. His skin prickled as heat grew and rolled past him in a wave, standing all his hair on end and leaving the metallic tang of magic lingering in the back of his nose.

Magic.

Dean had done a spell or an incantation. So some of the warding required upkeep and reinforcement, then?

The headphones were snatched roughly from his head but the blindfold remained.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Our security system, a system you almost by-passed,”

“I never meant -”

“Be quiet, Sam.”

They lapsed into a loaded silence. Sam strained to move, testing his muscles against the restrictions binding him, rocking his hips to see how much leverage he had. He regretted it, it only showed how little energy he had left, and how tightly he was stuck.

“Can you take the blindfold off at least?”

“Why should I?”

Which… wasn’t really a question Sam had an answer for. If Dean was happy to keep him tied up what hope did Sam have of persuading him that the blindfold was a cruelty too far?

The was a small camera shutter click and Sam felt his stomach plummet to somewhere near his feet. He briefly wished the room wasn’t so quiet, so he didn’t have to hear it, but that wouldn’t really make it better.

The air in the room felt thick, tension balanced on a knife edge and he could feel how easily everything was slipping away. His freedom, his chances of escape, his ability to keep reasoning with Dean. He had to pull it back somehow, if he wanted to get out of this any time soon.

He licked his lips, nervous, aware of what he about to try and do and wondering if he really had it in him, but he could only see one way forward.

“Can I… Dean, can we talk?”

There was a very pregnant pause and a shuffle of feet, a chair scraping. Sam hated not knowing where Dean was, hated not being able to see or feel prepared.

“Fine, go ahead.”

“It’s not… not everything is about you,” he rolled his head, trying to locate Dean through some sort of non existent echolocation skill. “This, being held here, you have to know it’s got me on edge, right?”

Nothing, no response. Sam ploughed on.

“I’m a hunter, I learned - you trained me - to always look for a back door, an escape route, a back up plan. I don’t know how to sit here and feel safe knowing I can’t get away.”

“But you know I’m not going to let anything happen to you? And if it were true, why try and break the warding, the one thing that can definitely protect you?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it like that, I just felt trapped, locked away like this. I don’t know how to sit on my thumbs and let you take charge,”

Dean grunted something unintelligible. Sam screwed up his face.

“It’s not all about getting away from you, you can see that right?”

“It’s just a coincidence that finding an escape route also means leaving me behind, that’s what you’re asking me to believe?” Dean’s voice was hard and hurt, his growl gone and replaced with something a little more broken.

“The two go together of course, but they’re not… I’m not meaning to hurt you by it.” it was the best he could do under the circumstances. He hoped it was enough.

He heard footsteps, winced as fingers grazed his cheek and the blindfold was whisked away, and blinked up at Dean in the dim light of the motel lightbulb. Dean leaned over him, with an unreadable expression looking for something in Sam’s face.

“Really? You don’t wish you could leave me, that’s what you’re saying? You think I’m going to buy that, after all the resisting you’ve been doing?”

Sam looked nervously around the room, and flicked his eyes back to Dean, letting himself nod very shakily.

“Okay, it _is_ part of it, but look at what you’re doing, it’s freaking me out! I don’t… I don’t know how to be around you like this. How is this where we’ve ended up? I don’t like being tied up, I can’t understand why you would want to.”

“I need you to be here with me, and if it has to be like this it’s a small price to pay.” Dean said, not even pausing, not even considering how fucking wrong it was.

“It feels like a big price to me, look what you’re doing to me.” Sam didn’t have to pretend to be upset, his voice was thick with emotion.

And Dean did look, and he touched, tentatively, the bare skin of Sam’s hip bone. His hand trailed slowly, curling to rest on Sam’s stomach. Sam felt his muscles contract and jolt in small undulations at the soft touch.

“Wouldn’t you rather I chose to stay? I know I would prefer it that way.” he said, trying to keep Dean focused. He looked far too distracted at the expanse of _Sam_ laid immobile before him.

“I would, but you don’t, and I’d rather have you however I can get you. Maybe later, if things don’t change, maybe I could go again and try to find another you from another world who feels the same way, but you’re here in front of me and how can I walk away?”

“You want me, even like this?” _Even when I have no other choice?_

“Yes. You still look like the best damn thing I’ve ever seen, you still _are_ the best person I’ve ever known.”

Sam braced himself, tried to calm his racing heart, because Dean was looking awfully hungry and it wasn’t for pizza. But he’d started this, he’d brought Dean over here and brought him round, if he couldn’t follow through - even if it had veered in a sickeningly wild direction he hadn’t planned on - then what was the point?

“Dean,”

“Hmmm?"

“Tell me… tell me what you see?”

“I see you, I see the brother I always watched over, and the man you were raised to be,” Dean rubbed circles into Sam’s bound arm, thumbs working in small circular massaging movements. “I see everything we could be, everything we had. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, I ache for you,”

“I’m right here.” Sam said with a note of annoyance.

“I know, and I’m trying to make it so there’s nothing between us, no world to distract us, no hunts to get in the way, so we can just focus on us.” his hands swirled higher, and lower, caressing Sam’s body with a feather light pressure. Sam made no comment to stop him. He’d practically invited this, and it was _working_. For the first time Sam was glad there was nothing in his stomach.

“But the restraints, and forcing me, that doesn’t make it feel unreal to you?”

Dean was answering questions, so why not ask?

“It doesn’t stop you being desirable, no. It doesn’t stop me from seeing the potential for you to want more.” he cupped Sam’s face, and if Sam had any other thoughts, any other tactics, they flitted away now under the burning stare.

They didn’t say anything for long drawn out seconds as Sam’s mind screeched to a halt. He didn’t want to encourage any of this, but he had, he _was._

“Thanks for taking the blindfold off,” he mumbled. He had to say _something_ and he was trying to stick to sincerity, it’s what Dean seemed to want.

Dean considered him, biting his lip.

“I want you to see me say this and know that it's true, we are _meant_ to be together. We fit perfectly. And I don't just mean physically, I mean all of it. I know you inside out and that's really all that matters, isn't it?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, because he thought he’d had a handle on this conversation but he didn’t. “I don’t feel like I know you at all right now.”

“I hate that you don’t trust me,” Dean said, and he moved a hand to grip Sam’s bound one almost reverently. “Because you can, I’m not lying, I do want to keep you safe. I didn’t do all this just to be a prison, I meant it to be ours, just a private place not to worry about anything else.”

“It doesn’t feel like that.” Sam felt the trembling start again, adrenaline burning through his system with nowhere to go. He wanted rant again, drive the point home that he was _tied to a bed_ , stripped of clothes and the right to choose but the logical thing to do was to follow Dean’s lead and hope it led somewhere better.

“Tell me how it started with you and… and me, you and Sam."

Dean sat back but he started caressing and massaging, rubbing his fingertips over Sam’s aching muscles like it was a comfort. Sam fought down his need to retch and flinch, _focus_ he willed himself, _keep him talking._

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you get to the point of doing anything like this with him? I mean, Dad was around, and then the world was ending every other month, how did you ever… and you’re brothers and -”

Dean smiled grimly and Sam took that as his cue to shut up.

“It just happened, it was the easiest thing ever. We were around each other all the time, and we complemented each other and worked well together. It’s not rocket science, it just felt right.” Dean paused, squinting at Sam. “And there’s really not even a hint of that, with you?”

Sam shook his head. Words seemed to have disappeared, his ability to carry a conversation spectacularly absent. Any manipulation he could think of withered and smoked to dust faced with Dean’s assurity that they should have a relationship.

“I could show you how easy it could be, you don’t even have to do anything,”

Sam frowned, a twitch of discomfort breaking through his ability to hold back. He shook his head, but finding words was a losing battle because he’d wanted Dean’s forgiveness or understanding so he could be untied, but he didn’t want to earn it like this.

Dean looked him over, assessing, and as he moved away and grabbed the back of his t-shirt to haul it over his head Sam realised he’d vastly overestimated how much he could predict what this Dean would do.

“What’s that for?” he asked, alarmed, as Dean plonked an arm full of rope onto the bed beside him.

“For you,” Dean said, with a tone that suggested Sam was the crazy one.

“Why do you need more?” Sam asked, pulse pounding in his eardrums.

“You did this for me once, well not this exactly, but you made it so all I had to do was feel, not move, not push you away, you just held me with that look you get sometimes and made me sit up and take notice, you made me realise how good we could be.”

Sam tensed, straightening his back and locking up as Dean caressed his thigh, dragging a length of rope across Sam’s skin.

“It started with little touches,” Dean said, trailing the rope lightly over Sam’s skin. “Stolen moments, secret comforts under the table while Dad scoured the papers for hunts. Nothing sexual, not really, just a closeness I guess,”

He cupped Sam’s leg, massaging, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them with a start, feeling another knot added to the rope work around his knees.

“I don’t think we meant anything by it, we weren’t exactly thinking of the future,” Dean continued, speaking slowly, lacing the rope in a network of criss-crosses around and under Sam’s thighs as he spoke.

“It just felt good, and we had so little that felt good,”

Sam gasped as the ropes cinched tight, the overlaps digging into the meat of his legs, the mesh holding him cocooned.

“Around the time your voice first dropped - you can’t have been more than fourteen- and you lost that boyish squeak, you bundled onto my lap one day and kissed me, just like that.”

Dean smiled and Sam felt his body react to the stimulation as Dean released his hold on the ropework letting it all loosen and then pulled tight again, making the fibres caress Sam's thighs and knots press in between his legs.

“Dean what are you doing? Does this story really need a physical accompaniment?”

“I thought it might help it sink in,” Dean said slyly, and he pulled the lengths in his hands closed one last time and knotted them. “Do you wanna hear it or not?”

Sam really didn’t, but he couldn’t think of anything better to suggest, and if he kept Dean talking might it stop that glint in his eye from getting ideas. He shrugged, as well as he could, and Dean nodded his acknowledgment.

“No interruptions, alight?”

“Maybe you should just gag me,” Sam muttered.

“Maybe one day, if you ask nicely, I will.” Dean replied with a wink. Sam balked, and his stomach flipped.

“I felt awful, felt like I’d corrupted you, you weren’t old enough to be acting like that - and I told you as much.”

Dean straddled his thighs, facing away and Sam craned his head to try and see what he was doing.

He felt more teasing caresses as Dean ran hands up and down his calves.

“You didn’t like that, never did like being told what to do did you?”

Sam groaned in the back of his throat as he felt more of the soft restraints looping between his shins and Dean’s hands thrusting it under his immobile legs.

“You started teasing me, telling me you knew enough and you could have anyone you wanted,”

Sam jerked his hips, trying to shake off the hands trailing sensation up and down his legs. Dean leaned back to run his hands from Sam's mid thigh over the black slashes holding him down and then meander around his rope enclosed ankles.

“I told you to quit it, and I started bringing home everyone and anyone who’d come with me to get back at you,”

Sam felt the shift in his ability to move as Dean finished lacing his calves in a tight bind. Realising he’d lost even more manoeuvrability he panicked, and focusing on Dean’s voice was his only way to ground himself.

“I didn’t let us go any further until I was twenty, until you started looking like you hated me as much as you hated the life Dad lead us on, until I saw you eyeing freeways that lead anywhere - everywhere - else.”

Dean swivelled around, until he was planted right on Sam’s groin, a leg either side of his hip.

“You were sixteen,”

“Going on seventeen?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

Dean pressed a finger to Sam's lips and he clammed up again. He didn’t want to know this, any of it, his mind was trying to encompasse how it fit with his own adolescence and failing to see how it made sense.

Dean sat there with hands resting on Sam’s pecs, rubbing idly at his flush skin. Sam squirmed.

“Is this necessary?” Sam asked, breathless, furious, hating how his skin felt itchy and not his own.

“Nothing about this is necessary, nothing about you and me was ever in the grand plan, we took what we wanted - what we _needed_ \- to survive and to live and fuck everything else!” Dean said vehemently.

He grabbed more black coils and made a larks head knot above Sam’s elbow, Sam winced, watching it fit snugly to the curve of his arm.

He wrapped the rope across Sam’s chest, and up over his shoulder, lifting Sam bodily off the bed to create a network that entwined his upper body and moving slowly, teasingly, pressing and massaging as he went.

“You were sixteen and I realised I loved you and didn’t want to lose you,”

Dean attached another loop to Sam’s other arm, followed the same pattern until he could bind both halves together in a collection of loops that rested in the middle of Sam’s chest. With his elbows pinned to his sides Sam's chest pushed up and out a tiny amount with each inhale.

“I felt you slipping away and I grabbed onto you with both hands,” Dean griped the harness around Sam’s chest and tugged, lifting Sam’s upper body off the mattress.

Sam gasped, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?”

Dean pressed his forehead to Sam’s and breathed deeply before letting go and easing Sam back until he laid flat again.

Sam watched the rise and fall of his chest as Dean caressed his handiwork, letting his weight push the fibres into Sam’s heated skin. Skin that prickled and jumped under Dean’s touch.

Why didn’t his body know this was all just overstimulation and adrenaline and fear?

“We progressed from angry make out sessions to jerking off next to each other under the sheets, to passing dirty glances over the dinner table,”

Sam tried to wriggle, feeling all the points he was held down worm their way into his mind and shake something loose. He couldn’t fight this. He couldn’t fight. It hurt too much, and he was so tired, and he hated this tale and he hated his childhood and he longed for Dean to do anything other than _this_ but he wasn’t going to - so he let his thoughts melt to nothing.

He stared blankly as Dean worked his hands in massaging circles, across all the planes of his exposed skin, Dean’s weight barely registering where he sat on top of Sam.

“Nothing more happened until later,” Dean continued, “after Stanford and the whole mess with that yellow eyed freak… after Dad,” Dean cleared his throat roughly.

Sam felt his own tears well up, even now he felt the rawness of it.

“In every other way, we were just brothers Sam,” Dean clasped his chin, jarring Sam to meet his eyes. “In every other way we were exactly like you, we just had more too.”

Sam shook his head, closed his eyes, tried to hide and failed at that too.

“It’s too much Dean,” he whispered. “Stop, don’t tell me anymore,”

“Alright Sammy, it’s only us, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,”

Dean shuffled off him, and Sam flicked an eye open to see him remove his pants and briefs, saw the hard length of his cock already blood filled and rising. He choked back a sob and Dean shushed him.

Could he backtrack now? Could he take back his attempt to earn Dean's sympathy? Remind Dean that he had been angry and see if it put a stop to all this? Because it had gone so incredibly wrong and he was so far beyond helpless that he wanted to scream.

He didn’t.

He didn’t protest when Dean arranged himself over his hips.

He didn’t voice his displeasure when Dean took both their cocks in one hand and braced the other on Sam’s chest.

He barely flinched when Dean rubbed his own precome up and down their shafts, making Sam feel all the points his own cock was flush to Dean’s.

“You worked your way into my mind once Sam, and isn't it easier when you don't have to worry about anything else? When it's the only thing in front of you and you just have to take it?”

“Stop trying to mess with my head,” he ground out. “You can't make me forget that this is wrong!”

“I thought you wanted to know? I thought you wanted to connect with me? Isn't that why you talked me over here?”

Sam blanched, eyes wide and stared at his big brother. Of _course_ he knew. _Of course_ he could read Sam like a book.

“That is what this was all about wasn't it?” Dean asked, the hand around Sam's cock barely moving except to close into a smaller fist.

“You wanted to get under my skin? Well I'm here, and I'm going to show you what being close to me means.” There was anger back in his tone now; he'd been playing Sam too.

“This, you,” Sam faltered, slow moving mind trying to spin back into action. “Were you sincere about anything, what you just told me?”

Deans hand sped up, and his palm pressed into Sam's chest, before he moved it to roll and pluck one of Sam's nipples.

“Yeah,” Dean was panting now, rising and falling eagerly, grinding his hips against Sam. “Yeah it was all true, and I needed you to see the way we affect each other, then and now.”

A tear leaked out of Sam's eye falling across his ear and into his hair.

“No matter what we try and do to each other there's no doubt in my mind that we'll end up here. You can play coy and sad all you like, but you brought me into the fold once despite my best intentions and I'm going to do the same to you.”

Dean sped up his jerking movements and Sam clenched his teeth, his cock full and sensitive, blood purple and leaking in Dean’s grip.

“I don't want to feel like this!” Sam yelled, thrashing for all he was worth and going nowhere.

“Shh, shh… I know, but I'm going to get you there.”

Sam bucked, trying to fold in on himself and turn away.

“Just let go and let it happen. Isn't it easier? Doesn't it feel better?” Dean asked, voice a throaty scraping rasp.

Looking at Dean, and their naked forms molded together, at the black lines of rope pinning him in place, Sam splintered again. He looked once at the door and when it didn't cave inwards and reveal a rescuer or a distraction he succumbed to exhaustion and sensation and fell away behind his eyes.

“There see, you have it. Together right? That's when it's good,”

Dean was speaking nonsense, and Sam ignored him to focus on the hollow ache in his chest that throbbed in time with the hunger in his gut. He laid it out like a blueprint, a map, _you are here_ his mind informed him, the broken edges of pain an arrow pointing to his current predicament. _Find a way through, find the way out._ His anger smoothed the edges into something he could grasp, and he held on for all he was worth.

He wouldn't be told how to feel or what to think, his mind was his own and he was the only one who got to decide what he thought.

“So make me let go, if you’re so sure,” he said, meant to spit it out but instead it tumbled out like a plea. And Dean took it as a challenge.

“Anytime you want little brother, all you have to do is ask.”

His body reacted as expected, Dean working his cock like a pro, his skin prickled and heat built and his limbs spasmed in tiny jerks that hardly moved at all.

And then Dean yanked him over the crest and through it to the other side until he had nothing left to give.

Dean wasn't far behind and he grinned as his own come mixed with Sam's on his fist and on their chests and stomachs.

They were both breathing hard and Sam realised with a pang he couldn't smell the pizza anymore. Gone cold and left forgotten.

“Is that it?” he asked weakly, quietly.

Dean leaned over, and nuzzled at Sam's face, he rolled his hips one last time before dismounting and laying out next to Sam on the bed.

“Yeah, I think we both know where we stand now, right?”

Sam felt fuzzy and sleepy, he rolled his head to look Dean in the eye, ignoring the sticky mess laying out to dry on his sweaty skin. He tried to shift and took a shaky breath in when he could barely make himself move - ramrod straight and held in place.

“Does it make you feel better, any of this?” he asked, mumbled really, his mouth barely obeying his will.

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as better, not after all we’ve been through.” Dean answered, stroking Sam’s face with his knuckles.

And that wasn’t really an answer at all. Sam nodded, swallowed, prayed.

“I never thought I could miss you when you’re right here.” Sam whispered, almost whimpering, thinking of Dean sitting in the Impala, of driving and laughing. He saw flashes of memory, Dean letting him walk away, Dean hugging him every time he came back. It didn’t feel right now.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Dean replied fiercely. “So you see why I need you to come back to me.”

“The ropes… why--”

“Because you won’t give in unless you have no other choice, not yet, and it gets you out of your head to focus on the here and now.”

“It’s a little overkill though, isn’t it?” Sam wasn’t sure why he was fixated on it now over everything else but he wanted an explanation as much as he wanted out.

“Looks good though,” Dean smiled, “knew the black would suit you.”

Sam frowned at him.

“Look, if it feels better see it as… payback, for fucking up earlier. Spend the night like this and it’ll make it easier to avoid wanting to try the same thing again tomorrow, right?”

“What, no, that’s not… you have to untie me—”

“Gotta learn from your mistakes sometime.” Dean kissed him on the nose and Sam rolled his head away.

“How’ma s’pposed to sleep?” he mumbled.

He felt the bed dip and move as Dean shuffled around getting comfortable.

“I don’t think it’s gonna be much of a problem,” Dean replied with a chuckle.

Sam tried to reply again, call him out and tell him to go fuck himself, but the words got lost in the cotton wool fog of sleep and he didn’t care. Sleep was half of what he wanted anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran away from me a little bit, Dean just keeps surprising even me, and I'm the one who's supposed to know what he's doing!
> 
> Comments, thoughts, musings, and ideas are all welcome and greatly appreciated - I hope you're enjoying the progress.


	10. Not Going To Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a shorter one this time, but hopefully I'll bet back in the swing of this soon!
> 
> I don’t know if this is how tracking a liscense plate really works and to be honest I was nervous to look it up in case I was wrong and my whole plot outline went to shit, so I stayed in my bubble of (potentially) badly conceived ideas, and you’re welcome to join me there and not tell me if I’m wrong.

Dean jerked awake again with a start. He’d been grabbing small chunks of sleep and rest as often as he could for two days, but it never lasted long. Worry clawed at him. Uselessness thrummed through his veins making him twitchy and restless.

Like a strong coffee after the buzzing rush of a couple of rounds at the bar his mind swirled, never settling, never stopping. So many options and so few of them good.

He swallowed the last of dregs of the cold cup beside him and focused on the screen flashing away in front of his blurry eyes. Another hit of the Impala’s license plate, another traffic cam, another tick on the map showing the way.

“Alright, South West again it is.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t enough. He had to get out on the road soon, _had to._ This process was too slow.

He’d followed the cars journey from the town of their last case out across country, but every possible turn and junction had to be considered. He could make some guesses as to the most obvious routes and start there, but there weren’t traffic cams on every stretch of road and looking through all footage of all possible routes until he got a hit had been going maddeningly slowly.

“Damn stupid cutbacks.”

Because that was the other problem, it felt like around a third of the cameras were either broken and unrepaired, or had been removed and were no longer in service. Back roads and tiny towns had little need for them, it meant trawling further to find a glimpse of black metal and hope the plate showed up, or watching the clock run and realising it would have passed after so long and backing up to check an alternate route.

He didn’t have much other choice though. He’d sent word out, sure, to Jody and the network of hunters they both knew, asked them to keep an eye out for anything usual — not that he had much to go on, it was a wide net that had no direction, he wasn’t sure what they should be looking _for_. What kind of creature or demon or entity could take down Sam without so much as a trail to follow? Without so much as a hint of a struggle?

There were only so many books he could look in for answers, only so many internet searches he could do that brought up nothing.

His shoulders heaved in resignation and he checked his phone again; no new messages yet. He rubbed a hand down his face and resolved to hit the showers, sleep seemed elusive, and he needed to be ready to go, soon. No matter what new directions did or didn’t crop up today he wasn’t sitting in the bunker any longer than he had to. Any longer than he already had.

The previous day had been a new kind of hell. From the first night of Sam’s abduction he’d got images, taunting sickening reminders of how unable to help him Dean was.

First the ones on the bed with the shackles and ropes and Sam’s pretzelled body, and the next morning one of him spread out and asleep, with something worryingly red smeared across his forehead. A third, blindfolded, head tossed in anguish; a fourth with that _thing_ , that _toy_ , halfway up inside him.

He’d resolved to stop looking then, to take note of the fact another proof of Sam's continued existence had arrived and take some small measure of solace in it but not torment himself with scenes he couldn’t scrub from his mind.

But then after only one more they’d stopped. Nothing. It turned out getting none was even worse. And he felt like it was his fault. He’d decided not to bear witness to Sam’s abuse, almost like he’d abandoned him, and so the pictures had stopped. Sam was alone. Truly alone, no one to even know what he was going through.

Halfway through the second full day of Sam being gone he finally clicked on the last of the previous messages, lip bitten firmly between his teeth and breath held tight in his chest.

It was Sam on a kitchen chair, arms and legs pulled back and his face sweaty and pinched in some kind of fever pain. Except, not that, he realised, not pain or sickness. The hard line of Sam’s cock standing tall and glistening caught his eye and he made a strangled noise and put the phone aside.

It hadn’t made any other photos appear in his message logs, it hadn’t made his phone ring or the trail pick up the pace, it just left Dean with a sick taste in his mouth and jittery nerves buzzing their way up to hatred so strong he felt he could choke on it.

What the hell had been happening to Sam since? It had been over twenty four hours since he'd last had contact. Had whoever or whatever had taken him finally lost interest? Killed him? Got bored and tossed him in a ditch to make his own way home? None of it seemed likely but Dean didn’t know what to think.

By the end of the day when no new pictures had appeared he was beside himself, sure that something had changed, that Sam was in worse distress or even dying. He’d called Jody, frantic, looking for someone to tell him he was wrong.

“I’d know wouldn’t I? If something had happened?”

“I think whatever has him would be taunting you with his body if he were dead. They must want something from you or else why bother sending you proof of his well-being?”

He’d told Jody he’d had confirmation of Sam being alive, but not the content, just that Sam was being hurt. He swallowed thickly before he answered again.

“What if he tried to make a break for it and they had no choice but to kill him?”

Because he knew Sam wouldn’t take this sitting down, he’d be fighting, trying, and that could end badly.

Jody was quiet for far too long before answering.

“I don’t know Dean, but believe me, we’re not going to stop until we have answers.”

It was about as much reassurance as he was likely to get.

“Sam will keep his head, he'll think his way out or at least… he'll keep himself alive.” he said back.

“He's got a good head on his shoulders, but Dean, he's counting on you to do the same to be his best chance. Stay smart, cover all your bases, and get some damn sleep. You're no good to him on an empty tank of gas.”

“Yeah, will do, let me know if—”

“If I hear anything yeah, I know.”

He’d eventually worn himself out with pacing and drinking and putting together attack plans that covered every unknown possibility he might face. He needed them for when he found his way to Sam’s side, every back up plan, every contingency.

He’d hit the hay early in the evening, worn thin and sluggish with fear, only to be trilled awake an hour later with another text.

Another photo.

His elation and relief quickly turned to ash in his mouth. The picture showed Sam bundled up in rope so tightly he could probably hardly even twitch. Just spools of black lines holding him straight as a plank and the blindfold back in place.

There were bruises blossoming on Sam's right shoulder and down his arm, and his lips looked red and swollen. Dean had no way to know when they'd occurred but it was clear Sam hadn't been kept comfortable the entire time, or he'd been beaten into submission. Both ideas made Dean see red, he growled, and jumped out of bed to pace around the room in frustration.

He wondered what their game was, what they meant for Sam to be experiencing. Was it just torment? Was it supposed to make him break, to talk? To give them information?

Was it just entertainment?

That last thought made him shudder hardest and he found himself looking at all the pictures again, zooming in to check for reflections in shiny surfaces for some hint of who was behind this.

He didn’t find any clues and sleep left him ragged, tossing and turning with unwelcome dreams. He only tried for another three hours, and then was up and checking the traffic cam progress, trying to refine the search criteria again to speed things along.

He checked in with four of Jody’s contacts but got nothing but static really, once he realised what they were reporting easily tied back to routine cases he tuned them out. But he thanked them, asked them to keep it up. He needed more pairs of eyes than just his own.

He rushed through cleaning up now in the shower, before grabbing and cataloguing the supplies he’d laid out. He didn’t plan to come back here until he had his brother in tow.

Cas was on his way to man the computers, he’d arrive in half a day but Dean didn’t plan to sit around and wait to exchange pleasantries. He’d left a note with instructions on how to keep the searches ticking along with minimal interference and he’d check in with Cas from the road. Having Cas by his side, another trained fighter and sharp pair of eyes, would have been a smart move but he didn't trust anyone else with the bunker, and he needed the information the programmes would spit out.

With the last of his things in the trunk, and maps spread across the dashboard he had one foot in the car when his phone rattled again.

He pulled back, planting his feet on solid ground and opened it.

Another.

Worse.

Sam, on his knees in the middle of a bed, his hands still twisted in ropes connected to his thighs and a harness twined and knotted around his upper body.

Sam’s face was crushed into the bedspread, flushed red and screwed up. His knees were spread apart, as if someone had forced their way between them. The shot was taken side on, so he couldn’t see what Sam’s ass looked like — _small mercies_ he thought — but he could imagine.

He didn’t _want_ to imagine, but he could.

Whatever Sam’s captor wanted Dean could only guess at, but the method and the results were far too obvious.

_Let him up you sick fuck_

He typed back. And then deleted. He’d given up making demands when none of them were answered.

_Don’t hurt him_

He typed again and then back spaced. He couldn’t make pleas, he couldn’t show how off kilter he felt, he had to be strong for them both.

_You won’t get away with this_

That one he sent. And then he got in his car and drove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Dean chapter! A whole bunch of you asked what he was up to, and it seemed the right time to get a glimpse. We’ll catch up with Sam at this point next time.
> 
> Comments always a welcome addition to my inspiration arsenal :D be gentle with me!


	11. Only a Precaution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve reached a point in writing this fic where two things are happening: 1) my outline is very clear and already well decided which makes it easier to write, and 2) I’m soon to be at the point where I already have some scenes written - things I wrote before I ever started posting so I knew where I had to get to.  
> What this means is, I hope to be able to have more frequent updates for a while! I’m not making any hard and fast promises, but every other week or so is my aim. I’m aware it’s been a long slow slog so far, and I so very much appreciate everyone’s patience and sticking with me — but let’s power through a bit if we can, I know I’m excited to get it moving!

The rigorous washing of his body had been done once already, but Sam made a start on a second round. It was a little slow going with only one hand while the other was handcuffed to the shower rail, but he didn’t mind taking the time to scrub the evidence — and the touches — away all over again.

Plus it’s not like Dean had re-appeared to let him out, he was out there doing fuck knew what in the motel room.

He’d slept fitfully through the second half of the night, snapping awake in bursts — desperate to move but caught up in all those ropes. He’d grunted in discomfort a handful of times as his muscles seized and cramped and it had disturbed Dean who’d tried to quiet him. Once he realised Dean planned on sleeping beside him the entire night he’d tried to keep a lid on his reactions. The body next to his was awful enough without having Dean’s hands on him too.

As he rubbed more soap across his stomach he thought about finally waking famished and light headed, without even the strength to jerk in his bonds.

 _“I have to eat more Dean, it hurts.”_ he’d said. And it was true, his body felt coiled tight and drained, all clenching around his empty insides.

Dean had nodded with a worried set to his face, untying some of the ropes so his legs were free at least, before hoisting him upright against the headboard. He’d made coffee first, mixing Sam’s milky and sugary, it didn’t taste great but Sam sipped it with hated gratefulness.

Some toast half burnt on the stove top had come next, Dean gave him a whole slice and a half. His displeasure at being hand fed had been out-weighed drastically by easing the gnawing ache in his gut. It wasn’t enough, not really, but even that small amount gave Sam a few stomach cramps and Dean had whisked the rest away.

He washed methodically between his legs, screwing his eyes shut, it wasn’t any easier the second time around to stay focused on the task and not let the memory of Dean’s invasive, unwanted touches crowd in. With a clunk of dropped soap Sam wondered why he was bothering and shut the shower off with an annoyed huff. He wasn’t going to get any cleaner than he already was.

He stepped out, his right arm stretched above his head by the short chain, and stood sheepishly in the cool air. He couldn’t even reach a fucking towel.

He didn’t wait long.

“All done?” Dean asked, slipping into the room with a light bounce.

Sam grunted in response and Dean threw a towel at his face. He snatched it before it could fall to the floor and Dean stepped neatly around him turned the shower back on.

“I’m going to get wet again.” Sam said dully, unable to move away from the spray.

“I’m sure you’ll live.”

“I’m sure you could make this less inconvenient.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to. I like being near you, get used to it.”

Dean ruffled his hair and Sam shook him off.

He watched in the rapidly steaming mirror as Dean washed quickly, sure hands moving in swirling motions. He felt sick thinking about how those same hands had seemed like they were going to untie him earlier only to flip him onto his knees, with his face pressed into the mattress, and finger him open.

Dean had rutted up behind him, thrusting his hard cock over the globes of Sam’s ass, between his cheeks and legs, using the harness of ropes around Sam’s upper body to hold him relatively still.

Dean had found his release, though it seemed to take a very long time to Sam, and afterward he’d lubed up a finger and massaged Sam’s prostate until he was writhing. It had been too much, and the feel of part of Dean inside him all over again almost made him lose his small breakfast.

Dean had rubbed and cajoled him for long minutes, stroking Sam’s cock in time with his insistent finger.

_“Want to come? Need it? Need to let go Sam?”_

_“No!”_

_“Really? You seem pretty close?”_

_“I don’t want it, not from you.”_

Dean had only rubbed harder, faster, pressing down against Sam’s back until it was all heat and weight on top of pressure and clenching muscles.

_“Fuck off, Dean, I don’t want to.”_

_“Alright, your loss.”_

And he had relented. Backing away so Sam could calm down all on his own. He couldn’t lift himself out of the position Dean had put him in though, his arms were still tied to his legs and pinned to his sides, he slumped onto his hip and went very still while Dean slipped the rest of the knots free, stroking his back and talking about some random shit that Sam wasn’t listening to.

Dean had hefted him up and steadied him in the direction of the bathroom, but not before snapping the cuffs on his wrists again. A quick shave with an electric razor and one pained shower later and here they were.

The breakfast slowly gave him a tiny bit of strength, once his stomach settled it had felt better. He wondered how long it would last, and how long it would be before he got more.

“What were you doing out there?” Sam asked to break the silence.

“Changed the bed. Thought we could do with some clean sheets.”

Sam turned to look him in the eye, confusion twisting his face into a frown.

“Where—”

“Housekeeping stopped outside the next room, the cart was outside. I grabbed some sheets and towels.”

Sam suppressed a gasp of surprise. Someone had been there. Right there. And it was still too far for him to get their attention.

He shivered.

“Won't they notice that we haven't come out? Or that they haven't come in?”

“Nah, seems like this set up kinda makes the room a blank space, like it's not really there or people just can't focus on it. I guess they'll forget it ever existed at some point.”

Sam didn't plan to be here long enough to find out.

“You don't know how it really works then? You haven't tried it before?”

“Never had any need to. Not all at once anyway. I know how each sigil works alone, but overlapping? Bit of a trial run really.”

It was the most Dean had talked about his advanced knowledge of the magic and Sam hoped to keep him talking. Information was power, here more than ever.

“Hand over the towel?”

Startled out of his thoughts that was it, conversation over, so maybe he was still more sluggish than he cared to admit.

And apparently they were sharing towels now too, but it seemed like a minor thing after every other strange and unwelcome development.

His arm was really aching by the time Dean was done, and his legs were starting to protest too. Dean gently lowered the limb after he unhooked the cuff and Sam tried to pull away, only to stop short when Dean stepped close and pressed him backwards into the wall.

It didn’t seem like he meant to be menacing, just an obstacle, but that wasn’t reassuring. Dean easily gathered his hands together and kissed Sam’s knuckles as the cuff snapped around his second wrist.

“Come on, I think we’ve had enough of bath time.”

With a grip on the chain Dean gently pulled him towards the door, Sam followed, because what else was there to do? He felt a little like a stray dog pulled unwillingly along, and had a brief mental picture of Dean dragging him behind on a leash — which was horrifying but so bizarre he had to fight back a wave of laughter.

He half doubled over, shaking with held in giggles.

“What?”

Sam shook his head.

“What? Have I got shampoo on the back of my head or something?”

“No,” Sam replied, a little breathless, “it’s not you.”

“... alright.” Dean cocked half a smile and pushed him into a seat in the kitchen. “Do I need to…?”

Sam followed his gaze and saw the length of rope coiled on the table. Sobering.

“Not going to fight you. Too exhausted.”

Dean appraised him. “Just sit tight then, I wanna check you over.”

Dean backed up, keeping an eye on Sam, and Sam rolled his eyes. There was a selection of fruit on the countertop beside him which he eyed longingly. The moment Dean turned away Sam lunged and grabbed a banana. He had it haphazardly peeled and one big bite taken by the time Dean realised.

Sam smirked and shrugged.

Dean looked shocked.

“Pry it from my famished fingers if you like, but I’m starving, so you could just let me fucking eat.” Sam said around a second large mouthful.

“Fine, enjoy. But you need to let me check you over too,” Dean replied, pulling on a pair of pants and coming close again.

He nodded once in acknowledgement and Dean started checking his injuries, Sam gulped the banana down in large mouthfuls before Dean could change his mind.

It was easier than he thought, normal almost, Dean checking the bruising and feeling his ribs and watching for Sam’s pain responses. He stilled very suddenly when Dean moved to tilt his head and see the marks on his neck, but he didn’t do more than give it a cursory once over.

“Nothing looks too bad, how’s it feel? You in much pain?”

“Hard to tell.”

Dean frowned, question evident.

“I’m on edge, my muscles are kinda strained I can’t feel much past the tension and adrenalin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I think we should ice your shoulder,” Dean said, changing the subject. “It doesn’t look too swollen but we can’t be too careful, it's still more bruised than I thought it'd be.”

“Sure, it’s not like we have access to emergency supplies if things get worse while we’re holed away in here.”

Dean threw him a withering look. Sam was enjoying not mincing his words though, Dean had made it clear the previous night that he knew Sam was trying to play him, so there was no reason to try and be more civil.

“Wondered when you’d start talking like yourself more again.” Dean said, tentatively smiling, looking hopeful and open.

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I never asked you not to be!”

“Yeah well, next time you wake up and find yourself tied to a bed by your brother, we’ll see how normal you can act.”

“You could do anything to me, it wouldn’t change things.” Dean seemed almost wounded. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Just get the damn ice pack if we’re doing this.”

With a huff Dean stalked off to dig through their belongings. Sam watched, and he watched the door, eyes flicking from one to the other. It was still out of reach, he’d never make it passed Dean… but then again if he never tried… he shook the thought away. He wasn’t sure what long con he was working on now, but a head on approach would only get him more tightly secured, of that he had no doubt.

That was his thought, and it seemed sensible, until Dean dumped a bag of things on the bed that he hadn’t seen before. They spilled out, and Sam saw a spreader bar complete with detachable cuffs.

His blood froze in his veins but his heart kept pumping faster and faster. He stood up without thinking, without even really planning to.

Dean was muttering as he rooted through his duffel — not his, _Dean’s_ duffle — for the ice packs.

“Wh-what the fuck.”

It was all Sam could think to say.

“What?”

Dean spun round and took in Sam’s alert stance and wild expression, and the sightline to his little bag of secrets.

“It’s not what you—”

“But it is though isn’t it, that why you bought it? You wanted to, you’re going to—”

“Wait, just calm down.”

Anger came next, anger and fear fuelled him into action.

“Well fuck you! Fuck that! I won’t let you!”

Sam strode around the table and Dean rushed to meet him, hands out, pushing on Sam’s chest. Sam batted him away with his chained hands and then they were grappling, Dean trying to subdue him and Sam trying to clawing his way free.

“You can’t do this to me!” Sam found himself yelling. “I won’t let you use it!”

“Sam, Sam I’m not going to, it was only a precaution, we don’t need it.”

Sam landed one solid elbow backwards into Dean’s ribs and Dean stumbled away. He recoiled, backing up a step when Dean reached for him again.

“No, n-not you, not this, I’m leaving! I'll fight tooth and nail before I get back on that bed.”

Dean gulped, taking in the fact that Sam was now the one with a clear line to the front door.

He slumped, and then pulled himself straighter, squaring his shoulders.

“Go on then.”

“What?”

“Go for it. Make a run for it, I won’t stop you. If you need to do this, do it.”

_What?_

But Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted for the door, handcuffs clanking as he wrenched the handle down and the door open, one last step — one final leaping bound.

The force that threw him backwards struck like a thunder clap. His whole body rebounded, reverberating backwards as he toppled and laid sprawled on the thin carpet.

Ears ringing and winded he watched the sunlight streaming through the open door, streaming in with a brightness that made him want to shield his eyes. He tried to right himself and crawl forward but the slam against the invisible barrier and left him wobbly, stunned in every sense.

Dean walked slowly, carefully, around him and pushed the door closed. Sam watched the blazing light of freedom get smaller and smaller until it was gone and all that was left was wood and scrawled upon walls and restraints and Dean.

He sucked in a breath, trying to draw enough air to speak, his mind spinning.

“What…?”

“What was that?”

Sam nodded.

Dean crouched before him, hands clasped together.

“That was my last big trick, I was hoping you wouldn’t have to find out. This place is warded, you know that.”

“But—”

“It’s warded for you too, not just from the outside. So here’s the thing, you can’t get out that way, not that easily.”

Sam blinked away tears.

“Oh Sam, you’re making this so much harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

“No. M’not.”

“You are, but you have to realise, you have to know: no-one is getting through that door except for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

He sat on the floor for a long time. Dean tried to get him up and he thrashed, kicking out until Dean backed off. He didn't go far but Sam had enough space to shuffle against the wall.

Sat with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands he tried to think. He rubbed fiercely at his eyes. How had it come to this?

“You really turned this into a high security prison didn't you?” he said, lifting angry eyes to Dean.

“If that's how you want to see it.” Dean shrugged.

“That's. How. It. _Is._ ”

Why was he always trying to do that? Making Sam seem like the unreasonable one?

“Why… why all the restraints? The cuffs? If I can't leave anyway?”

“You think I don't know that you could knock me out in an instant and take the time to work out how to undo it all? You’re smart enough, you could hurt one or both of us just to get a shot at it.”

Of course, prisoners didn't get free reign, even stashed behind locked doors they were guarded and herded around with limited freedoms.

“Why let me move around at all? Why not just lock me up and throw away the key?”

“That's not what I want.”

“No you just want to control everything I do so you get what you want. It won't work forever.”

Sam watched Dean take a breath and let the words wash over him. With a small shake he brushed them off. It was a gesture Sam recognised from every time Dean was confronted with a truth he didn't like - the ability to disregard it and forge his own way ahead.

Sam slumped. His ass was starting to protest the seating arrangement.

“Can I sit… not the bed, I don't want that… but the couch?”

Dean nodded, smiling.

It was a firm low thing with wooden arms and ill padded cushions but it was better than the floor. Dean pushed it up against the room divide so the TV was in sight.

Sam clambered up, sinking into a slouch and resting his head back. He felt bone weary, drained, used up and empty. Dean reappeared at his feet with a length of rope.

“Dean…” he whispered, shaking his head, pleading without saying it.

“Precautions, that’s all. It’s not — it’s not a reprimand like last night, I’m not mad. I get that you had to try.”

He said it as though it made it all better, made it all acceptable. It didn’t. He tied off Sam’s legs with a short length of give between his ankles and one end tethered to the sofa leg. Sam could move, twitch around, but he wasn’t walking anywhere without undoing some serious knotwork.

“Now you know, I have to be a little more careful.”

_Fuck_

“But I can… we can still make it work okay? I’ll take these off give you a break…” he carefully unlocked the cuffs and Sam let his arms drop, he’d run out of fight.

Something in the back of his mind was screaming that he should’ve have kicked Dean in the face, slammed a knee into Dean’s chin while he was bent over his feet and made another escape attempt. He hated that he hadn’t; his stomach clenched at the idea that if he had it would only have made things worse.

“Talk to me?”

Dean looked at him earnestly, with worry, crouched at his feet with gentle hands curled on Sam’s knees. Sam had nothing to say and Dean eventually went away. He was a very thorough prison warden.

Sam stared into space for a long time. Counting the seconds, his breaths, trying to stop his mind from going into overdrive. Trying to focus on the facts.

Dean liked it when he reacted as expected, like himself, like the bright and stubborn hunter Dean knew. And it seemed to earn him a small measure of trust and respect, at the very least it made Dean happier, which had to work in Sam’s favour. But reacting that way also meant Dean had more reason to watch him closely, to control his movements even more. It might as well have been miles to the door, it might as well have been a ball and chain around his foot; with Dean’s keen eye and training Sam didn’t have more than an inch of wiggle room.

But that was okay, he could work with an inch. He could crawl finger hold by finger hold if he had to. It was just a case of making sure he wasn’t too weak to manage it, that he wasn’t too lost in a fog of horror to see the way.

 

* * *

 

Dean spent a lot of the rest of the day on Sam’s laptop, brushing aside Sam’s questions about what he was doing. He alternated between sprawling on the nearest bed and sitting on a kitchen chair with his feet propped on the arm of the sofa opposite Sam.

Eventually Sam’s curiosity slithered away to hide somewhere out of sight. He didn’t care what Dean was doing so long as it kept him occupied.

He got his ice pack once it had cooled in the fridge long enough and Dean took it back and forth to re-freeze and then later to reapply every time it thawed. Sam wasn't sure there was much swelling for it to help with but the shock of cold gave him something to focus on.

Dean made sure he drank plenty of water, and gave him another coffee; and somewhere around mid afternoon he got a slice of cold pizza. Dean devoured half the box. Everything tasted like ash, like metal, like giving in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more painful discussions. Thoughts? Feelings? Tell me everything!


	12. What The Problem Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a slight change to the sexual dynamic in this chapter, I’ve put an overview in the end notes in case anyone is unsure and wants to know what’s up before reading.

Sam pestered Dean for books as the afternoon bled into evening, and lost himself for a while re-reading some of the old lore books he happened to have in his bags. Dean didn’t need to know he was looking for information on dimensions, or nephilim, or for clues about the sigils. It was normal for Sam to read and Dean didn’t question it, and putting his mind to use — even if it didn’t end up finding anything helpful — settled something inside him that had been disquieted for days.

Dean’s incessant need to talk rattled something in him that was achingly familiar. He kept trying to engage Sam in conversation, picking out parts of their lives that were the same, asking about which things were different. Eventually Sam put down the book and resigned himself to listening as Dean recounted a hunt he’d been on with _his_ Sam, something Sam himself had never experienced.

It was normal, nothing out of the ordinary, but Dean had a way of telling it that actually made Sam laugh. He stopped in surprise almost immediately as the sound burst out and blinked in shock at his own ability to forget his situation.

Dean smiled crookedly at him.

“So… any hunts like that happen to you?”

Sam tried to pull his mind away from his confusion and focus on the question. Hunts, something humorous.

“Ever battle a warlock in the south of Maine?”

“No. Do tell.” Dean made a show of settling comfortably in his seat, beckoning Sam to go on.

“So, there was this weird anomaly popping up around town, we drove there overnight and happened across it first hand, not even believing what we were seeing. Dean stopped the car like… like a dog had run out into the road, and he—”

“Just say ‘you’”.

“... what?”

“Don’t say ‘Dean’ or ‘he’, just say you, I’m sitting right here. I know who you mean.”

“That’s… that’s confusing. No.” Sam shook his head with a deepening frown.

“It’s not, I may as well be the person you’ve always known right, we have the same personality, most of the same memories.”

“But you’re not him. And he’s certainly not like you.” Sam said vehemently.

“Sam, we're the same guy.”

Sam shook his head, a panicked laugh finding its way to his lips. He couldn’t, he _couldn’t,_ think of them in the space of the same breath, let alone start to conflate one with the other. It was too much, too strange, too much like an intrusion into everything he’d ever known.

“Look at me and tell me I'm not the Dean you know in every way.”

His mannerisms, his expressions, his voice. It was all there. It was just _wrong._

“Don't feel the same.” Sam said past the choking closed feeling in his throat.

“That's because there's more to us now, you've seen it and felt it, everything goes deeper that's all.”

Dean plucked Sam's hand from his lap and laced their fingers together.

“This is it, you and me, you and him, the same just closer.”

Sam looked at their entwined hands. Blank. He was blank. How could he keep losing his ability to think?

“So… you're a hand holding guy now?”

Dean smirked and let their hands drop.

“Not especially. It's not like I'm particularly more sappy, I'm not love struck or romantic or anything.”

“Clearly,” Sam said pointedly.

Dean shoved him playfully. “Whatever man, believe it or not I can be in love and still be myself.”

“This is you being yourself? Holding the person you supposedly love against their will? That doesn't seem much like you.”

Dean grunted and turned to pick up the television remote.

“I'm serious, what changed that you ended up here… like this?”

Dean scowled, clenching his jaw, clicked the TV on and stared at it blankly.

“You died.”

“And?”

“That's not enough?” Dean yelled, rising to his feet.

“It's not much of an explanation for this behaviour.”

Dean stood up and paced away. Sam felt a small measure of satisfaction at getting him to move but it was undercut with worry over making him mad.

“You left me!” he turned, pointing an accusing finger at Sam.

His anger was palpable, rolling through the room and hitching the tension Sam had felt for days to an even higher degree.

“I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose, or a choice.”

Dean blinked furiously, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes.

“You still left,” he mumbled, “I still wasn’t enough.”

Sam frowned, there wasn't much to say to that.

Dean sank onto the bed leaning over his knees. Sam could see the taut line of his shoulders, his back, the way his jaw was working.

“So, you just don’t want me to be able to leave again?”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Have you ever talked about it? Did you ever even think about what happened or did you just push it aside and barrel through the multiverse to find me?”

“I thought about it every goddamn day for a year while I tried to find a way to get you back. I thought about it through every world I travelled where you weren’t, for three long years. I thought about it every second I was alone.”

“Thinking about being alone and trying to find a way to change that isn’t the same as processing the loss, Dean, or coming to terms with it.” Sam persisted, desperate to make Dean see some semblance of reality.

“Well, now I have you, so universe: none — Dean Winchester: One. I win.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “Keeping me here isn’t the same as having me.”

“It’s the best I’ve got, and the rest will work itself out.” Dean waved a hand and stood, clearly agitated.

“You really think that? You really want to condition me until I don’t know what I want anymore? Until I don't know my own thoughts?”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do!”

“Isn’t it?” Sam had only put the pieces together in dribs and drabs, the full picture of what Dean was attempting. It was only as he said it that he realised there was just one outcome Dean seemed to be hoping for, and it was Sam having his perception altered, his walls flattened, until he could accept what Dean was forcing on him.

He gasped for breath, shaking at the implication — that couldn’t happen, could it? He’d get free before he got lost in it wouldn’t he?

Dean was staring at him, mouth open. “I…”

Sam was trembling. He felt cold. His bare skin prickling with goosebumps.

“You can learn to love me this way without giving yourself up.” Dean said it so quietly that Sam almost didn’t hear him. Sam looked up, holding back tears.

“I’m not sure I can. I don’t think that’s ever going to be a possibility.”

Dean hurried over and sat down again, crowding into Sam’s space.

“Don’t cry, I hate seeing you so cut up about this.”

And that was laughable. Ridiculous. Sam shook his head. It made him more angry than he knew what to do with.

“You should put the cuffs back on.” was all he could bring himself to say.

“What? Why?”

“Because I feel like I might be about to try and hit you.”

Dean looked at him with an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“You can hit me. It would make me feel like you cared, to be that affected.”

Sam slowly picked up the handcuffs from the seat between them and offered them to his brother.

“I’m serious, I don’t want to know what freedoms you’ll take away if I try and knock you out. Don’t make me find out.”

Dean leaned away and studied him for long seconds, before reluctantly clipping the metal around Sam’s left wrist, leaning across him, and attaching it to the sofas wooden arm.

Sam breathed a little easier once he was secured, and he didn’t dare examine too closely why that was.

“It shouldn’t be like this.” Dean muttered as he settled back in his seat, grabbing the remote and turning the TV set up to a higher volume. “It was never meant to be like this.”

Sam watched his knees.

“Fucking Abaddon,” Dean growled.

“Abaddon?” Sam asked with a start, swivelling his head in surprise. “What does she have to do with anything?”

Dean hunched his shoulders, crossing his arms.

“We’re not talking about it.”

“But—”

“No.” Dean threw him a stern glare. “No, not today. She’s not tainting this too.”

Sam was bewildered, feeling like there was something there to latch on to, and desperately trying to figure out what it was.

“I’m already…” Sam shook his cuffed hand showing his predicament, “I’m not sure there’s much more to be ruined. It’s not like we’re on the same page, not really. I can talk to you more easily than I can… than the sex. I can get on board with trying to get to know you, isn’t that what you want? Connection?”

Dean regarded him sidelong, before shaking his head. “Anything else, not this. Not thinking about this. I’m with you now, that’s enough.”

“How long will it be enough for?” Sam asked quietly. He wondered how long any of this could satisfy Dean's desires, or if he was even thinking long term.

Dean shifted in his seat, picking at his clothes, shooting Sam a look that he couldn't decipher.

“Until it isn't.”

Sam gulped. He turned blurry eyes to the screen in front of them. _Until it isn't._

Something would have to give. Something big. Which one of them would it be?

 

* * *

 

  
Dean produced beef jerky and snack foods for dinner, after a shuffling awkward walk to the bathroom and back. Sam picked at the food Dean shoved into bowls and nestled between them on the couch, exhausted and hungry but unable to feel much like eating.

He fell into a doze as the evening wore on, the TV turned down low and Dean a quiet presence beside him. It was a mistake, he knew that as soon as he woke.

Dean was sitting way too close, leaning into Sam with his breath hot on Sam’s bare shoulder. He jerked awake, blinking, pulling away. There was nowhere to go.

“Hey,” Dean breathed, “I want to try something.”

“Does it involve touching me?”

“It involves you touching me.”

“No, thanks.” Sam replied, trying for nonchalance. His heart was pounding. Dean wanted him to return…. what? The favour? Respond in kind? He didn’t want any part in that.

“I thought about what you said earlier, how it’s hard for you to get on board with being sexual with me, and maybe we should try something else. Maybe I should let you….” Dean slid around lifting one leg until he could straddle Sam, one knee slotted between Sam and his manacled wrist. “Maybe I should let you top?”

Sam, startled by the expanse of brother now pressed up against his chest, with his face inches from his own and his hands balanced on Sam's shoulders, took a moment to digest the suggestion.

When it clicked he looked up at Dean with horror.

“No…” he whispered. Then louder, “No, get off, I don’t — no!” he pushed at Dean with his free hand, trying to grab his arms and fling him away.

Dean twisted to avoid being battered in the face and gripped Sam’s arm, holding it steady between them.

“It’ll feel better than the other stuff, it’ll feel like what you’re used to. I want this with you, however you want it. How will we know unless we give it a try?”

“I know because I already feel sick, I know because I don’t want to feel that — feel _you_ like that.”

Dean slid to the floor, and Sam jerked his legs, twisting his hips and trying to push out, away, make sure there wasn’t room for Dean to do anything. The ropes pulled him up short, made it difficult to do anything effective. Dean knelt on the floor before him, used his elbows to hold Sam’s legs down and slightly apart and breathed hot breath on his cock.

Sam bucked.

Not heat, not there, not again.

“See if I make you feel good first it won’t feel as strange going in.” Dean circled one hand around the base of his cock as he spoke, holding gently, letting Sam adjust to the warmth of it.

He’d never adjust to this.

Dean leaned in, flicking his tongue to swipe the underside of the head, trailing wet warmth behind it. He brought his hand up in a smooth sweep, thumb trailing further and stuck his tongue out until thumb and tongue met and overlapped.

“Not again, not again, Dean!”

His mouth again was worse, much worse than thrusts and teases, much more than rubbing with hands and lube. It was intimate in a way that Sam couldn’t examine. Wrong tenfold more because his body wanted to succumb to the heat, the delicate motions of tongue and lips.

“Shhh, don’t look if you don’t want to.”

Dean sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, laving at the head and forming a tight seal with his lips. Sam tried closing his eyes but that was worse. He felt the way Dean was letting saliva collect on his cock, felt the way Dean's tongue found the most sensitive bundle of nerves and licked, pressing hot pleasure into his skin over and over.

“Like this, right here,” Dean said, pulling back to lick his lips, “if you work this spot and get as much in your mouth as you can it starts to feel good really quickly.”

He was filling out. His cock coming alive.

Sam’s free hand flew out to try to push Dean away but Dean gathered it up and held it down against the sofa cushion.

“You don’t want to get too eager though, or else the fun ends too soon.”

“Why isn’t saying no enough for you?” Sam gasped as Dean ran his tongue up the length of his cock.

Dean paused as he grabbed for lube Sam hadn’t noticed lying innocently on the couch, considering him with care. “Why can’t you want the same things you’ve always wanted? Why do I have to be alone? We all have questions Sam, not all of them can be answered.”

“So you don’t know why you’re doing this, other than the fact that you can? That’s comforting.”

“What’s comforting is showing you how much I care, now shush, you’ll lose all the hard work I put into getting you in the mood.”

He’d straddled Sam again and Sam loathed that he’d given Dean permission to tie his left hand, squirmed knowing he might be able to fend Dean off more easily if he hadn’t insisted on avoiding confrontation.

“I don’t want to be handcuffed for this.” he said as he pushed at Dean with his free hand and tried to jostle his knees to stop him getting comfortable.

Dean sat heavily on his thighs, leaning back and pinning him down.

“One hand is enough to contend with, you’re like an octopus. A giant irresistible octopus.”

“Don’t try to be cute.” Sam snarled. “You can’t be cute and rape me.”

Dean uncapped the bottle and slathered Sam’s cock with lube. He jerked against the cold and slippery feel of it, watching Dean’s face as he concentrated. Reverent. Eager. His mouth parted with a gasping inhale.

“Don’t try to spoil this,” Dean leaned in, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders so their foreheads almost touched. “Give me a chance.”

“Give me a choice.”

Dean closed his eyes, swallowed hard. Sam tried to tilt his head back, to get enough space to bash his forehead against Dean’s nose but a hand curled into his hair, gripping him in place, and stopped him.

“No pain, I’m not going to hurt you, don’t hurt me either.” Dean glared at him, forcing his eyes to find Sam’s wherever Sam looked.

Sam gave up and looked dully into his wide and sincere eyes.

“No pain, I promise. I don’t want to fend off blows from you, please.”

And there, that word that Sam refused to say thrown back at him like it was _easy._

“You’re begging me now? For leniency?” Sam exhaled with a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“Just sit still it’s not hard. Well,” he grabbed for Sam’s cock, “it’s a bit hard.” he winked.

Sam tried to throw him off, really truly tried to unbalance him but there was no leverage. Before he knew what to think Dean was up on his knees, holding Sam’s cock steady as he sank down onto it.

Sam groaned. A whine building in his throat. Dean gave himself time to adjust, slowly rolling his hips up and down, flexing his knees, holding his weight until he could lower further.

The tight squeezing sensation of Dean’s ass clenching, relaxing, and gripping his cock overwhelmed and overrode every thought, every sense.

He realised Dean was slick inside, and not struggling to force himself onto Sam’s girth.

“You… you, lube?” Sam gasped, his body barely letting him think beyond _tight heat smooth clinging._

_Brother._

“While you were sleeping,” Dean groaned low as he writhed, throwing his head back as he sank almost all the way down Sam’s cock. “Got all ready, and waited for you to wake up.”

It felt like betrayal. It felt like surrender. It felt like being trapped.

“Wanted this to be easy for you,” Dean rasped, rocking.

“Not easy, not what I want.”

Sam’s world narrowed to the legs pinning his own down, to his straining chaffed wrist, to the black band t-shirt that Dean was wearing — so faded the design was barely visible. The way his body trembled to give in the more Dean moved, to clenching muscles and contracting waves of sensation. To an abyss of black hatred, to inescapable hands and words.

“If… if I annoy you enough will you leave, get off?”

“Not a chance.”

“Can’t, don’t make me.”

“You’re doing so good, so great. Just like this, just feel it, see how deep you can go doesn’t that feel amazing?”

Dean spouted tumbling words, sentence after sentence that grew more filthy, more moans than intelligible words.

“Shut up! Fuck, no, son of a bitch,” Sam gasped.

Dean’s hand trailed up his chest, his thumb resting in the hollow of Sam’s throat and his fingers curling around the back of Sam’s neck, and Sam froze. His other hand found Sam’s mouth, palm shushing his protests with a gentle press. The need for air, the memory of being bruised and pinned and denied came screaming back and Sam sucked in a panicked breath. Words died on his lips.

Don’t make him mad, don’t resist, got to keep breathing.

He fell silent, Dean moved with urgency, and Sam came with his blood singing in his ears.

As he came down from the thrill, the physical wave washing away he realised Dean was guiding their hands down to his own cock. He wrapped Sam’s free hand with both of his, circled all three around his cock, and Sam watched with horrified eyes as he helped bring Dean to completion.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, a long while later, after they were both clean and dry and Sam had stumbled haltingly back to the bed with Dean firmly guiding, he was glad to find Dean thrusting a bottle of Jack into his hand.

He glugged until his throat burned and waited for the sweet floating feeling that might carry him away. Numbness called for him and he couldn’t wait to answer.

Dean slumped into the mattress beside him and grinned, reclining against the headboard with one hand trailing uncomfortably close to Sam’s prone form. Sam waited for more and when he didn’t come his mind drifted away again, swimming as the minutes past and the alcohol did its job.

He shuffled a little ways away, trying to ignore the way the room was attempting to spin. His body was free and he thought about getting up, about finding somewhere else to sleep, of trying the window to see if he could force his way out there.

He laughed imagining himself being flung back onto the other bed — the one neither of them had used in two days — and bouncing like a cartoon character until he landed flat on his ass. He wondered if his limbs would flail around like a rag doll and if it would hurt when he hit the ground.

“What’re you thinking in that big head of yours?”

Dean’s voice shut down his mindless amusement.

“You’re a dick, for one.”

“You're drunk.”

“I’m also not wrong.” Sam forced his body to roll over so he could look Dean in the eye. “Never wrong about you, you’re just afraid. That’s why you can’t be anything other than an asshole right now. Isn’t it?”

“Anything in particular you want to complain about? Anything you liked?”

“I like…. no, there’s nothing here I like. Even the shower is crappy. And I miss outside. And food. And being away from _you.”_

The words were tumbling free, the alcohol loosening his tongue until he didn’t care what he said.

“I know.” Dean said with a put upon sigh. “This room is feeling a little small.”

“Does your ass hurt?”

“What?”

“After… when,” Sam hand waved, blood flushing his face. “It hurt the next day, a bit. Doesn’t yours…. don’t you?”

“No, not really, I mean I can tell we did it, but it’s not bad. It’s like an ache after working out, it doesn’t mean anything bad, the opposite in fact. It won't last long either.”

“Oh.”

“It’s the difference between being relaxed, and trying to fight it. You’ll get it too.”

“I don’t want to.” Sam grabbed for the bottle and took another swig. “And I hate that you made me.”

“Did today’s — was this better, more what you might like?”

“No.”

“What was it that—”

“Nuh-uh, not talking about my sexual preferences.”

“There wasn’t anything you would want to feel again?” Dean asked, voice pitched low in disappointment.

Sam was suddenly wary of making him mad.

“Is that a problem? If there isn’t?”

“I guess not, it can take a while to get used to.”

“I don’t think that’s what the problem is. Fuck you, you _know_ what the problem is.”

Dean stayed silent, arms crossed behind his head, looking anywhere but at Sam.

“Are you mad with me?” Sam asked eventually, vision blurring but still oh so aware of Dean’s body language, and unable to read it.

“No, concerned. Considering. Just wishing everything were different.”

“I don’t have to pretend I liked it?” Sam throat was thick with tears and he swallowed hastily to clear them.

“No, because it’s honest and I want you to be you, to be true. How can I know where we are if you’re trying to hide things?”

“So you don’t want me to like it? Doesn’t it turn you off that I’m… that it’s repulsive to me?”

“You don’t have say it, but don’t stop trying either.”

Sam rolled his head away, squinting at his brother. “Is that an order?”

“Do you want it to be?” Dean growled.

Sam flinched at the impatience in his tone, at the way his body rippled with held back ferocity. He curled a hand tighter around the bottle of whisky, just trying to breathe away the worry.

Dean ran a hand down his face and uncrossed his legs, sitting up to slump on the edge of the bed.

“You’re making this so goddamn difficult,” he sighed, face turned to his feet. Turning back around he gripped Sam’s shoulder and found his eyes.

“It’s been a long time since one of us really took charge, but if you really want me to go that way….?”

Sam shook his head, vehemently, shrinking backwards, curling into himself. “No thanks.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Don’t like rules, or obeying.”

“Alright. Then we’ll both try to be civil. You don’t have to hold still when we do it, I’ll… I’ll take care of everything there, so you don’t have to worry. But I’ll try not to order you around.”

Sam frowned, groaning as his stomach sloshed. The irony of Dean declaring he would not be commanding Sam’s actions was laughable, when he was moving to bind him down for the night.

He tipped more golden liquid into his mouth, spilling some down his chin. He was so sleepy, worn and weathered by the long day of new information, new sensation. Dean used rope to bind his ankles to the bedpost but Sam was almost out by the time he was done.

He fell asleep to soft touches, to Dean climbing in beside him and running calloused fingers over his muscles, trailing his hands in murmuring caresses.

He tried to bat Dean away but his body wouldn’t respond. The last thing he felt was a chaste press of lips to his unbruised shoulder, to the long exhale of hot breath on the nape of his neck. He hoped the drink might clear that from his mind by morning, but knew he was never that lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean forces himself on Sam in a new way, riding Sam, so technically Dean is the bottom — which I know is not how I tagged this fic (tags updated accordingly). He’s still very much in charge and Sam is still hating it, which is why this will be the only time it happens, because it doesn’t make Sam any more receptive to the situation. But if you don’t want to read that, skip the middle part between the two chapter breaks, nothing much of note happens in that scene that you’ll need to remember apart from Dean curling his hands near Sam’s mouth/throat and Sam having a fear reaction. So skim-read or skip if it’s not for you! 
> 
> Okay, here, another update! I’m nervous about this one for some reason! Let me know what you think, I’ll be over here in my room making no noise and pretending I don’t exist.
> 
> As a note, this fic is almost entirely unbeta’d, so if you find discrepancies or repetitions, that’s cause it’s just me out here contending with 30k+ of words and an increasingly messy outline >:}


	13. Laid Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got long but I’m sure you won’t mind. Fun fact: this scene was the very first thing I wrote for this fic, over a year ago! (It’s been thoroughly edited to keep the standard the same as where my writing has got to since then, fear not.)
> 
> Potentially things will slow down over the busy festive period, but I’ll be back after Christmas/once January gets rolling. Hugs and high fives, thanks for a great year of reading and commenting!

The one clock in the room was flashing near midday before Sam finally woke. He'd been in and out all morning, unwilling to fully agree to consciousness. A cereal bar and some fruit awaited him when he did, plonked on the bed beside him with a bottle of water and knowing smile from Dean which he didn't return.

He picked at the food slowly, listening to the tap tap tap of Dean using his laptop. Using it with permission. He did everything without permission so Sam didn't know why he wanted this to be different, maybe just because he was on the outside of it and didn't know what Dean was using it _for._

No matter how much food he nibbled, trying to make it last so his body thought there was enough, there was a pit inside him that didn't seem to get full. He thought dully that it probably had nothing to do with hunger.

“You just tired?” Dean asked once he'd been awake for an hour and hadn't tried to move.

Sam grunted in response.

“I can't help if I don't know what's wrong.”

“ _You're_ what's wrong.”

“I thought we were going to be civil?”

“I thought you weren't going to demand my cooperation?”

Dean threw a pillow at his head, Sam threw it back, and that was that.

He did get up eventually, but Dean insisted on hobbling his feet so he couldn’t kick out or move too quickly, running a length of rope between his ankles that was barely long enough to take a full step. It was humiliating. He reached to untie it and Dean grabbed hold of the handcuffs with a swift shake of his head.

“You know the drill, you know it's to keep us from ending up in an altercation. If you want to fight against it that's fine, but don't give me that bitch face.”

“I'm hurting, I feel wrong being trussed up all the time.” he paused for a breath and whispered, “I can’t keep existing like this.”

“Well you know how to get past this point,” Dean retorted.

“Come round to your way of thinking?”

“Something like that, show me we're heading in the right direction and I'll be less concerned.”

Sam's defiance drained away with those words, if he gave up fighting just to get a chance of normalcy and freedom did that mean Dean won?

By the end of the afternoon he was tired of sitting at the table, butt half asleep on the hard chair and hands aching in the cuffs. He sighed and Dean decided they were done with “work”. Sam had been making lists on paper; names of old friends, current contacts, spell ingredients, back road routes he could recall from memory turn by turn. Anything that he could itemize and write down, anything he was in control of. Just something to do while Dean concentrated on whatever was on the screen in front of him.

Dean plucked him from his chair with a firm grip on his arm; he was leading them both back to the bed. Sam's spirits dropped even further and he tried to dig his heels into the carpet to slow their walk across the room.

“Come on,” Dean said as he squeezed Sam's elbow.

“God, Dean, aren't you done yet? What more can you want?”

Dean stopped in his tracks, nostrils flaring. He flung Sam's chained wrists towards his body and rounded on him with eyes hard as ice.

“Done?” Dean's voice was flat and low and Sam new that tone, he knew that look, he'd seen it a thousand times. This was Dean with rage so deep he was barely holding together.

Dean shoved him in the chest, sending Sam stumbling backwards; he gripped Sam around the shoulders and pushed until Sam felt the hard wood of the room divider press into his back. Dean took hold of the chain between the handcuffs and tugged Sam's hands down to his waist.

A fist flew out and caught Sam on the side of his cheek.

“Done?”

Another blow fell on the side of his head.

“We don't get to be done!”

Another hit him across the ear, his chin, his chest and shoulders.

Sam slid to the floor under the rain of blows, realised Dean had let go of his wrists and brought his arms up to shield his face.

“We're forever, you and me against everything else. You don't get to call it quits! We don't ever get _done_ can't you see that?” Dean's voice got louder and louder, but his hits came farther between, and softer, until he was only jostling Sam, slapping him with an open palm.

Dean shook him one last time, hands gripping him around the shoulders and he lowered his hands and looked up to find Dean crouched over him. They were both breathing ragged and Sam was half curled into himself, sprawled on the thin carpet. Dean studied him for long seconds as Sam felt his heartbeat stutter under his skin.

He should say something placating, right? Try and ease this twisted that thing had risen in Dean so whatever came next wouldn't be as bad as he feared.

But the moment passed and whatever Dean read on Sam’s face he must not have liked it because he grunted, grappled in his pocket and brought out the keys to Sam's handcuffs.

He grabbed Sam's left wrist and freed it from the restraints.

“What…?”

Dean just glared, mercilessly pulled his right wrist above his head and closed the handcuff around the lattice woodwork. Then he rose, turned, and stormed out of the motel room without looking back.

Sam flinched at the slam of the door and found himself alone in a blanket of silence.

He sat stock still listening to the huff of his breath leaving his body. The room felt bigger without Dean's presence looming over him, but it was deathly quiet. He realised that he couldn't hear anything; no traffic from outside, no televisions blaring from other rooms or people talking and yelling. It was unsettling. He felt cut off from everything.

He looked around at the warding and spellwork Dean had painted onto the walls and it occurred to him that maybe as well as cloaking the room to everyone outside, it could be preventing sounds from the world seeping in.

Anger surged through his veins in a heady rush. He felt powerless and he hated it. If Dean decided never to come back it was entirely possible that no-one would ever find him.

He pulled relentlessly at the knots around his ankles, it was difficult with only his left hand to use but he worked the knots loose and slipped the loops over his feet. He flung the rope as far as he could across the room, feeling an instant satisfaction at getting some of Dean's confinement _away_.

He touched gingerly to his face and felt the blossoming of bruises across his jawline and around his left eye. It fueled his anger. He cast around the room looking for anything within reach that could help free him from the cuff around his wrist.

There was nothing. The only thing within arm's reach was the bed he'd been tied to for days and he wanted nothing to do with that bed.

_Except._

Except the bed covers.

Bed covers that had hardly been used, laid on top of more than laid between, but still there. Sam shuffled forward, angling his body toward the bed, and reached out with his unbound hand stretching until he managed to snag the top cover between his fingers.

It took a few minutes of tugging before it yielded and he could drag it towards him, grabbing it in his fist to force it all the way loose. He clutched it desperately once he had hold of it.

The struggle with Dean, and then with the bedspread, left him exhausted. Now the adrenalin was wearing off he felt drained, shaky even, reminding him how tired he'd become from days worth of not enough food, and hours of straining his muscles against restraints and living on edge.

He drew the sheet around himself, revelling in being covered after days of nakedness. It was a barrier, a flimsy one, but one nonetheless between him and Dean.

* * *

 

  
He worked slowly at trying to pry a nail free from the woodwork behind him, but all he achieved was a crick in his neck, sore fingertips, and an increasing feeling of helplessness. He didn’t know what else to do but wait, and waiting set his teeth on edge and his annoyance spiking, so he’d turn back to the task.

It was over two hours before Dean returned and it was beginning to get dark. Sam's anger at Dean leaving him chained on the floor had petered out. It was replaced slowly with the knowledge that Dean had beaten him for suggesting they could end this, flown into a rage at Sam implying it could be over. He would definitely be coming back. And Sam had no idea how angry he'd be when he reappeared, or what he'd do with that anger.

So far Dean hadn't really been angry at all, frustrated and firm - unrelenting - but not furious. Every awful thing he'd done had been calculated, almost calm, and it made Sam's thoughts run wild considering what he might do in anger.

What Sam hadn't expected was for Dean to come in quietly and barely look up as he walked through the door. He dropped his keys onto the chair, stood there a moment before flicking on the light and turning around.

Sam tensed, pulled himself further away, squashing up against the wall at his back.

Dean slunk over to the bedside, plopped himself on the floor, and looked him steadily in the eye.

“I'm sorry.”

 _What?_ An apology? It was the last thing Sam had anticipated.

“I shouldn't have done that,” he gestured at Sam's face “I shouldn't have got angry like that.”

He waited and Sam wondered if he expected him to say something.

“I cleared my head a bit, anyway. I think we both prob’ly needed some space.”

“I don't know what you want me to say to that.”

Dean frowned and looked him up and down, taking in the sheet Sam had covered himself with. “How is it?” He waved loosely at Sam's face and arms.

“I've had worse.”

“Yeah.”

“I've taken worse hits from _you_...My version of you.”

Dean grinned. “Sounds about right. Some things never change Sammy.”

“Don't call me that.”

They fell into an uneasy silence, Sam felt there was more that Dean wanted to say but wasn't. After a handful of minutes passed and Dean wasn't talking or moving to uncuff him Sam sighed.

“What now? What are you not saying?”

Dean glanced up, surprise on his features.

“How did you…?”

“You forget that I know you too?”

“Right.” he cleared his throat and threw Sam a watery smile. “I know yesterday we said — I said — I wouldn't take over, I wouldn't own you or take charge or whatever words we used.”

“But you're going back on it now?” Sam said, a hollow feeling growing in his chest.

“Not for good, not completely, but I need to show you that we can gel in a way you don't expect. That I can read you in a way you don't understand yet.”

Dean shifted and stood. He walked over to his bag and fished around before turning back, Sam couldn't see what he was holding.

“See, I had this thought. I know you don't trust me—”

Sam barked out a laugh and shook his head.

“I know, alright, you've got no reason too. This isn't exactly what I had expected when I came here either.”

Sam eyed him, curious. “What did you expect?”

“That's not what I want to talk about right now.”

Dean dropped whatever he was holding onto the far bed and picked up one of the long spools of rope off the floor on the way towards Sam.

“There’s something I want to try. Me and Sam, my Sam, we did this sometimes. Just every now and then. He liked it, the way I looked when he did it.”

He sounded wistful.

Dean stopped next to him and he steeled himself for being grabbed or manhandled. But Dean just dragged a chair over and set about securing the rope in a taut line between the two sides of the room divider. Sam knew it was for him, for restraining _him_ , even before he looked back to Dean and saw him picking up a thin leather belt off the bed.

His stomach flipped and he felt the incredulity on his face, not having the mental energy to do anything to conceal it or pretend he wasn’t horrified he let it show, let it break free.

“No!”

“I'm...I’m not really asking. I think it'll do us good, I think it'll help.”

“No, Dean, no!”

“Listen, me and Sammy, this was good for us before. And maybe it'll be good for me and you. He was the one who usually, y'know,” he swatted the belt against his palm and Sam tensed, clenching his jaw. “But I think I can figure it out.”

“You want to hurt me?” Sam asked quietly.

“I want to prove that I’ll take care of you, that most importantly I won't ever do more than I know you can handle, that this can be good even if it feels bad. That I can make you feel things that you never thought were possible — if you'll just **let** me.”

“You just want to punish me for what I said before. This has nothing to do with any other crap, you're just angry and you want to take it out on me!” Sam was yelling without planning to, and rose to his feet still holding the sheet protectively against his chest, cradling it while his other hand clenched useless where it was chained.

“That's really not what it's about. Do I seem angry to you?” there was annoyance tinging his tone but Sam had to admit that no, there wasn't any anger there.

“I don't want to do this Dean.”

“I'll look after you, like I always do. But I want to prove this to you first. I think this will help me prove it to you.”

“This won't change anything, you're only going to cause me more pain.” Sam said shrinking backwards.

"In an intense relationship like this, it's good. Its trust, it's trusting someone else to take care of your body, believing and feeling that they know you more than you know yourself. Like I do with you, like we can with each other. Let me show you what I mean, what I can do for you.”

“You've got it all wrong, this is all wrong.”

“I'll take care of it, it'll bring us closer. It has to bring us closer because there'll be nothing else we can do other than react and be there for each other.”

Sam shook his head, bit his own lip to keep it from trembling.

Dean had picked out a second pair of handcuffs and strode up to Sam, yanking on the sheet. He tried to hold on but Dean pulled harder and it was the most pathetic tug of war he had ever witnessed. He hated that he was naked, bared to the world — to Dean — again, after the comfort of being covered for the last two hours.

Sam swung his left fist at Dean as he turned to dump the sheet out of reach, caught him on the shoulder and then a glancing blow to his jaw. Dean grunted at the blows but it didn’t slow him down. They wrestled for a few short moments while Dean caught up his hands and chained them together again, released him from where he had been tethered and fixed a short length of rope between the handcuffs.

Sam was aware of his pulse pounding, the knowledge that this was going to happen burning away any other thought in his head. He already felt so weak he knew he couldn't fight Dean off for long.

He tried to think of something to do to delay this, or to say to change Dean’s mind, his thoughts running furiously but not coming up with anything helpful. He looked down at his feet, at how far away they looked, thinking how inviting it seemed to be far away.

He dropped to the floor so quickly he could’ve sworn he heard air whistle past his ears on the way down. It was safer down here, and harder for Dean to get him anywhere, he thought.

Dean sighed. “You’re such a stubborn little bitch, Sam. Come on.”

“Did you really think I’d go easily to my own whipping?” he asked, laughing dryly. He resisted, pushing his weight back against the floor, desperate to stay put.

Dean crouched down to meet Sam at eye level, looking at him with such concern that Sam was stunned into stillness.

“That’s...it’s not like that. This is a thing people do. They give up control to someone else, and they trust them.”

“But I’m not choosing this, I’m not giving up control, you’re just taking it! And how could I trust you after everything, after all this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to fix!” Dean shouted back. “I’m trying to prove that you can, that I know you enough to make this work.”

“This is crazy Dean, can’t you see the flaws in what you’re saying?”

Dean didn’t respond but grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair, keeping one hand on the chain, and hauled Sam to his feet. Sam struggled up after him, half bent over to accommodate Dean’s hold until they were standing in the centre of the archway between the rooms.

As soon as Dean let go of his hair Sam attempted to struggle away, tried to use his body weight to push Dean off balance, to kick out at his shins. Nothing worked. Dean wouldn’t let go.

He pulled Sam’s arms up above his head, until he was stretched upwards, drew the end of the rope between his hands over the line he’d devised between the screens and scrambled up onto the nearby chair to secure it.

Sam was breathing heavily and let his head hang, stifling the scream of frustration building in his chest. He tested the security of his restraints as Dean stepped off the chair and found, as expected, that he couldn’t pull free.

Sam was tall enough that he wasn’t over stretched in this position but he could feel an ache in his hands beginning already so he wiggled his fingers to keep the blood flowing.

He realised he didn’t know where Dean was and a slip of panic found its way to the front of his mind, he twisted around and saw Dean walking back towards him holding the satin blindfold.

He yelped out a _no_ as Dean reached him and slipped it over his face. Sam struggled and kicked but Dean had the upper hand and it was knotted behind his head before he could shake it off.

Surrounded by blackness Sam stood rooted to the spot. He expected the first blow without warning and was tensed for it, listening for it.

He heard Dean move, a footfall, a shuffling step, and heard a whimper escape his own lips.

“It’s gonna be fine Sam, I’ve got you.”

That made Sam angry and he vowed in that moment that he wouldn’t give in to Dean, wouldn’t let Dean see him breakdown. Dean didn't get to pretend that he was doing this for Sam's own good and get away with it.

The wait for something, anything, to happen dragged on longer and longer and Sam wondered if his perception of time was warped. Nothing felt real. It was like his first night here all over again, the impossibility of what was happening — what was about to happen — was so huge, so much a thing that Sam couldn’t wrap his mind around that it couldn’t be real. He was tied and naked in the middle of a motel room and this twisted version of his brother was going to beat him raw in an effort to make Sam love him; Sam couldn’t connect that to any reality that made sense.

He flinched as something touched his ass. It was warm and soft, and fleshy? _Dean's hand_ his brain supplied. Dean was patting his ass and rubbing in circles, he moved up his back doing the same thing.

“What are you doing?”

“Just warming you up, getting familiar.”

Dean's touch brought Sam back to reality a fraction and he could feel the bite of the cuffs on his wrists and the hard floor under his feet, he tried ground himself with them. He wished he could see. Anything to focus on would be better than floating in the dark.

“I'm going to start slow Sam, I'll be careful, this isn't going to damage you. I'll watch, I'll see when you've had enough.”

Sam's mouth was running before he could rein in his words.

“Don't. Dean, don't do this. I get it okay,” he really didn't, but it seemed like the thing to say. “I get your point. Let me down. Just let me down. I don't want this, I don't want—”

Dean shushed him with a light kiss on his lips and Sam had no idea that Dean had even been in front of him, he jerked away as far as his chains allowed.

“Just feel it Sam. You don't have to do anything, there's nothing to think about. Be in the moment with me. It'll feel good by the end, I'd bet Baby on it.”

Sam clammed up again, remembering his earlier promise to himself not to break down. He ground his teeth together and breathed through his nose, breaths a little harsh, heart pounding, he waited.

The first flick was a shock, it fell in the middle of his back, it wasn't hard and left just a small sting behind it as the belt trailed away. With dismay Sam realised he hadn't been able to hear it until the blow hit.

Dean moved the belt swiftly, hitting his way up and down Sam's back from his shoulder to just under his ass cheeks with the same light pressure. Sam hissed in a breath at each stinging slap but found it wasn't unbearably painful.

“Doing great, so good,” Dean murmured.

His back felt warm and tingly, he could feel that he'd be red, but he could handle this it wasn’t so bad.

And then the pressure changed.

The belt fell against his skin harder and a _thwack_ accompanied it, the sound filled his head. Sam gasped, a trail of fire exploding in a stripe near his right side.

The next hits came further apart as Dean gave him moments between to collect himself. They all landed just as hard, criss crossing his back in diagonals. Sam gasped at each one, leaning away, pulling at the handcuffs. His skin beginning to feel fiery hot.

A harder lash landed on his ass and Sam yelped and lurched half a step forward, pulling away as far as he could until his arms were stretched backwards above him. Dean placed an arm around his chest and slowly eased him backwards, murmuring something about not straining himself that Sam didn't really pay attention to.

Dean kissed his shoulder and then was gone again. Sam was shaking. He rested his head against his up-stretched arm, his breath coming in jagged intakes and shaky exhales.

“Let me go, stop this,” he pleaded.

Another rough thwack hit his cheek and then the tops of his thighs and Sam whined. He squeezed his legs harder together wanting to protect his balls from a hit like that.

“You’re doing perfectly, you can let go. You can, I know you can.” Dean answered him.

Dean sped up again and began to alternate harder hits with lighter trailing ones. The onslaught kept coming and Sam swayed under the blows. He imagined welts appearing on his skin and everything turning red, with white hot stripes when the belt landed.

A particularly hard stroke fell and the tip of the belt whipped around Sam's ribs reaching near to his navel. Sam cried out, tears filling his eyes.

Dean didn't stop. Everything narrowed to pain and shaking muscles. Tears soaked the blindfold. Sam cried out over and over, wordless and whimpering, all earlier promises forgotten. He didn’t care about holding back, he didn’t care what Dean saw, noises spilled from him and it helped — it made it bearable to allow the hurt a place to go.

And not just this hurt, every held back emotion was drawn up and spilled out until he was choking on them. There seemed no end to the well of pain he was drawing on or to the blows raining on his back.

They fell until one final, harsh sting landed between his shoulder blades and Sam swung his head back keening, his neck arched as he yelled. The belt trailed slowly down his back, brushed down his legs and was gone.

Dean was there, shushing him, holding him. Sam leaned against him, glad to have something take his weight a little. He felt the belt folded in Dean's hand, soft and small, and let out a sob.

“Can I see? Let me see.”

“Shush. It's alright. Soon.”

Dean's warmth disappeared and Sam stumbled in the empty air. His legs were trembling and he wanted to lie down. And then he thought about how much lying down would hurt and the air stuck in his throat.

“T-talk to me? Don’t leave me like this,” he sobbed, desperately sad, utterly bereft in the dark and alone.

“You’re alright, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean was back behind him pressing close and he gasped, Dean's shirt rubbing against his welted back too much, too intense. Sam pulled away and Dean followed, resting his head on Sam's shoulder, pressed kisses to Sam's neck.

“This is where it's gonna get good.”

And Sam balked, because there was going to be _more_?

He felt hands trailing down his chest, fingertips caressing his nipples, pinching. He grunted, annoyance and fear and displeasure all bound up in throaty noises and Dean rolled his nipples between fingertips and scraped nails down his ribs. And a hand came to rest on his hip, running circles over the skin. He felt Dean press up against his side, slotted into the space under his left arm.

The hands disappeared and Sam breathed ragged at the reprieve before they returned. One hand rubbed lightly over his abused back and he cried out and felt fresh tears falling.

The other hand fell to Sam's crotch, tickled through the hairs there and Sam's brain caught up with what Dean had planned.

“No. No, no Dean. It's too much, let me down, you have to stop,” his voice cracked, rushing over the words.

Dean didn't stop and Sam felt his cock enclosed in warmth, _wet_ warmth. Maybe Dean had gone away to get lube? It felt like it, maybe.

Fingers moved over his cock, spreading lube over his entire length. It left Dean's hand to glide effortlessly around his cock, no friction, no chafing. The only burn and heat, the rub of friction, was at his back where Dean was _massaging_ over the sore flesh. He worked away at it with a steady slow rhythm, never fumbling letting both hands moving in sync with each other.

Sam was dazed.

“What’s this for? Why?”

“To feel good, to get release. You’re doing so well.”

It didn’t feel that way, but he didn’t know anymore, he couldn’t tell. Dean was all around him and it was all warped and twisted.

His back _hurt_ , skin burning and throbbing, and Dean drew his attention to it in waves of sensation. Shuddering under the pain he turned his concentration to the nerves lighting up through his cock, looking for relief. And that relief felt good, great actually, and he heard himself moan. And so he tuned his mind to the pain again, and back and forth.

“You look so good, so laid bare for me. Just how I need you.”

Sam shook his head, chin rolling to his chest. The mixed messages made his breath stutter but his cock didn't appear to mind and Dean coaxed it to attention.

“I’ll get us where we need to go, I’ll get you through this, just as easy as it feels I promise. Feel that, what I’m doing? You’re getting so hard, knew you could do it.”

Sam felt it happen and hung his head letting himself sob. He pushed backwards onto Dean's hand, craving the pain again and Dean pressed his palm against the small of his back. Sam cried out at the increased contact but it didn't change anything.

His entire body was shaking with the effort of being held upwards for so long and he hurt and he felt muscles clenching in his stomach and thighs. He growled, frustrated, wanted this over.

He heard the words _hurry up_ escape his mouth and couldn't bring himself to care.

Dean hummed in approval and his hand left Sam's back, and _dammit_ he missed the heat Dean was rubbing in circles there, the way it sent shivers up his spine. He didn't have chance to miss it for long though.

Dean's hands came back in moments, and as his left found Sam’s cock again there were fingers delving into the cleft of his ass. The intrusion was slick with lube too. He yelped and went up on his toes, which pushed his cock up between Dean's roving fingers.

He couldn't escape Dean's hands, he knew, he felt it. He couldn't stay up on his toes and fell back down where Dean's fingers were waiting for him. They circled him, probed a little, stretched him open. One finger curling inside and pushing up.

Sam groaned and inched away again, straining onto the balls of his feet. This time, Dean's hand followed.

It didn't take long. A handful more minutes of assault on his cock and a twitching finger against his prostate as Sam rocked back and forth between the sensations.

A continuous low whine built in his chest and he let it out with a shout as he came.


	14. The Only One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath 'cause we're back in business!

He _ached,_ and couldn’t do more than survive clench-jawed and exhausted through the rest of the evening, no room for making plans or mind games. Nothing made him feel better but it didn't stop Dean from trying. He blearily thought Dean seemed in his element, taking care of him, thinking of everything he might require or that might help.

And Sam was in too much pain to stop him, but Dean ignored the fact that he might not _want_ Dean's help and the fact that there was no alternative, to focus on attending to his every need like it was the only important thing in the world.

Hot compresses with towels soaked under the steaming shower, followed by ice packs and lotion. Warm milky drinks, beer, some show on the TV that he was supposed to be interested in. It was all a blur. He couldn't see passed the inflamed heat radiating from his back, the ache every time he moved.

The only constant was Dean. He was everywhere, in everything, every movement had Dean’s mark all over it. Laid on his stomach, with his head twisted away, eyes scratchy with tears both shed and unshed he waited out the night.

He couldn't let it go on like this, days bleeding— quite literally — into nights. Slipping by under a routine of meagre meals and sex and conversation, none of which he wanted. There had to be more than this, more he could do. Tomorrow would have to be different, he couldn't go through the motions again pretending he was biding his time while getting weaker every second.

They had to talk about what would come next. Carrying on in this holding pattern was sucking him dry.

 

* * *

 

Dean rolled into town in mid afternoon. Cas had finally sent through the final coordinates, picked up from the last sighting of the Impala from a highway. This city was clearly behind on its infrastructure upkeep because there were about three working traffic cams in the entire city limits. But matched with the timeline Dean had this town had to be the last spot they could have driven to that first night.

That first picture was his jumping off point, his X marks the spot. He just had to find a motel that had taken in new guests in the run up to that hour. So, that should be straight forward, not like motels took in the majority of guests late at night or anything. He thunked his head onto the steering wheel of the beat up unloved car he’d taken from the bunkers garage, he couldn’t even take comfort in the familiarity of the Impala.

Speaking of which, that was another lead they could look into. No-one in their right mind would keep a car that distinct around, especially not someone who’d been taunting the rightful owner with his worst nightmare. Which meant it had probably been dumped somewhere.

Cas picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, yeah I need locations of all junkyards and scrap yards within a few miles of city limits and wherever the local P.D takes towed cars.”

“Okay, anything else I should be on the lookout for?”

“Check posted ads, see if anyone local recently sold or is selling a ‘67 Impala. If it got dumped somewhere it might’ve been jacked and sold on, fetch a pretty penny that car.”

“How will this help us locate Sam?”

“If worst comes to worst and the motels are all a bust, we might find someone who saw whoever dumped the car. It’s another lead to pick up if this one is a dead end.”

“Do you think it will be?”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “I hope not. But we have to plan for every eventuality. We have to cover every inch of ground.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“What do you think I have you for?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, yeah, but we only have so many pairs of eyes and ears and I need yours pointed at those screens. Just have to make do on my own out here.”

“Call me if I can be of any more assistance.”

“Will do.”

“And be careful Dean,” Cas added.

“Always am.”

He hung up with a heavy heart. He was worn thin after days of this, but just having a friendly voice on the end of the line set his mind more to rights. But it wouldn’t settle for good until he got Sam back, and to do that he couldn’t really stay on the phone to Cas.

Motels first. Back up plans second.

He spent the afternoon traipsing from seedy downtown motels, to ones out on the edges of the city and back. He hadn’t found one solution that worked for coercing information out of people more than another and each stop on his list took way too long.

He sweet talked the younger desk clerks into asking to see guest lists, he gave sob stories about run away family members to the middle aged woman, he played the law enforcement card with the stuffy pretentious employees who thought they guarded the secrets of mankind and couldn’t give them up without due cause.

Even with all that his success rate was only around eighty percent. He got lists of all occupied rooms and thanked them cordially, and scouted out each room looking for their occupants. The other twenty percent he skulked off and then broke into a room or two and when the furnishings didn’t match the pictures he crossed the motel off his list.

None showed signs of Sam. None showed signs of supernatural beings. His EMF reader didn’t ping more than a blip, probably just the latent energy of a hundred-thousand horny hookups and marital angst manifesting into… something.

God, his mind was fried.

He hadn’t stopped for days, not really. He questioned whether he was missing something important. What if he ended up having to come back and re-check every spot tomorrow?

His instincts kept telling him to go to the abandoned parts of town, warehouse districts and old factories, blocks of old brick buildings where these kind of dangerous situations always happened to them. But he knew, he had the evidence that Sam was being held in a motel room, it was just so hard to believe. It was hard to get his gut to stop telling him that something more was wrong that he wasn't seeing.

Why would they be somewhere so close to public? How would they have got Sam into a populated area without him being seen? Had he been drugged and carried in unconscious? Was he gagged or threatened with pain if he wasn’t quiet?

Thoughts chased each other in circles, and he had no way to prove or discount any of them.

After a half hour period where he used his phone to search for movie sets in any close geographical location that could be made to look like a motel room he came back to himself and wondered why the fuck he was wasting time. Night was coming on, and he was exhausted, he needed a caffeine hit or maybe something stronger if he was going to make it through the night.

He dropped into an old, run down, and dimly lit bar and ordered two espresso shots, a plate of hot wings, and a fifth of whisky.

Settling into a corner booth he was out like a light before his order came.

He woke nearly two hours later, disoriented. Cold coffee and warm alcohol both spoiling on the table in front of him. Pulling out his phone he jolted alert to the sight of several new messages gracing his inbox.

Heart pounding, lungs seizing, he looked.

The whisky glass flew across the room and shattered against the opposite wall before he knew his hand was moving. He swallowed the room temperature coffee with a grimace of disgust, threw what he hoped were enough notes onto the table, and left the bar before anyone stopped him.

In the night air his head wasn’t any clearer.

He called Jody again and got her voicemail.

“Fuck, Jody, dammit, I can’t. Sam, he’s worse, he’s. They hurt him worse. Motherfuckers I’m going to separate their heads from their shoulders, just call me, something — anything — I need a heads up about what I’m facing. Please.”

_Please, please come though for me._ He needed help. He needed to focus. He needed to know what to do next.

Motels. Right. There were three more on his list.

No one in the offices of any of them would discuss patrons or be charmed by him. One wouldn’t even let him in the door. He was clearly angrily wound tight and he couldn’t blame them, except he did.

Everyone who wasn’t actively helping him, was hindering him, and he was passed the point of being able to be polite.

He scouted the places out, watching comings and going but none of them were well lit and he saw nothing useful.

“Get some rest,” Cas said when he called.

“How can I rest?”

“Do whatever you need to, but do it for Sam, ‘get your head on straight’ I believe is what you would tell me.”

“The only way I can keep from seeing red is to be busy and I can’t go breaking down doors in the dead of night hoping to stumble through the right one. If they hear me coming I might spook them into… they might kill him. Sam’s in there somewhere and the element of surprise is all I have, I have to _know_. I have to be sure before I barge in.”

He breathed hard, the impotence of doing nothing a weight on his chest that he could hardly bare.

“I have those locations if you want to look them over?”

“Yeah, sure, send them over. It’s a head start, it’s something… yeah, thanks Cas.”

All night he spent sneaking into junk yards and impound lots, meticulously looking for a gleam of black or a familiar shape, for a place there might be some evidence to find. All night the images of Sam strung up, blindfolded, with come streaking his stomach and welts streaking his back made war on the inside of his eyelids.

The words rolled around his head, taunting. _You’ve missed this, how could you miss this? Don’t you care enough to know him this way?_

The _why_ didn’t matter anymore. Only where, only who, only how. How would he kill them. How would he bring Sam back from this.

 

* * *

 

It was ten a.m when he found himself at the second to last motel in front of a strange sight. It was two storey, and not very full, but the visitors log he’d sequestered from the front desk showed one less room in use than Dean could see.

On the second floor, third along, was a room with curtains that weren’t open. When he went back and asked the clerk if room fourteen was taken, he got a confused look and was told there was no room fourteen.

“Dude I can see it from outside.”

“No,” the guy had a strange faraway look in his eyes, and shook off his confusion with a shrug, “there isn’t one, they numbered them wrong or something. It goes thirteen, and then fifteen.”

“You’ve never seen a room numbered fourteen?” Dean asked again, eyeing the key organiser behind the desk that had a label for fourteen and a missing key.

“Nope, sorry.”

The guy looked at him like he was crazy and Dean took that as his cue to leave.

“Cas, I think… I think I have it. I think I found them.”

“Are you sure, what’s going on? Should I come down there?”

“I don’t know, it’s weird. There’s this room that no one seems able to see, there’s a marking on the door and a few on the windows, and I can see it but it’s… I dunno, invisible to everyone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“The desk guy told me they never had a room fourteen, the list they have is missing that log, but there’s a spot for the key and I can see the door with fourteen on it. And then the cleaning crew? Walked right passed it, didn’t even knock. Didn’t even _look_ at it. I know motel staff aren’t always reliable but that seems bad even for the worst of them doesn’t it?”

“So it’s shielded, warded possibly?”

“Sounds a bit like a trap doesn’t it, if I’m the only one who can tell it exists?”

“Or blood magic maybe,” Dean heard the sounds of rustling pages. “If they used Sam’s blood to work the warding that might make sense, you’re related so it might not work on you.”

“Why would they use his blood?”

“Well, they — they would have it to hand.”

Dean went silent. Seething.

“It doesn’t mean that’s definitely what they did, it’s just one theory. I’m coming, Dean, you shouldn’t go in there alone.”

Dean didn’t protest, but he didn’t promise either.

He watched the door for a long time, two hours went by and it never opened. The curtains never twitched.

There was fire under his skin, urgency. He couldn’t keep sitting across the road from where Sam was tied down and hurting. Everything pointed to this. He had all the tools he needed to fight back.

He had surprise, he had motivation, and sure he was down backup but Cas would get here in a few hours if nothing else.

He slipped out of the car and geared up.

Approaching head on wasn’t a good plan, he needed stealth. He walked two blocks away and cut behind the residential buildings to a collection of littered alleyways and empty yards. He came up behind the motel from the back car lot and moved fast across the open space. Unless someone was watching out of the bathroom windows he would go unseen.

He slunk around the side of the building, keeping his back to the wall until he reached the steps up to the second level. He stood underneath them for several agonising minutes to make sure the coast was clear. Fourteen steps up, two at a time. It seemed fortuitous.

He sidestepped as fast as he could, sliding to a stop beside the peeling paint of the door. He thought up the layout of the room as best he knew it, mentally going over the placement of furniture, doors and windows, thinking about where blind spots might be and where Sam could be in the line of fire. Where to shoot, where to avoid.

He listened.

No sound.

He listened some more.

Still nothing.

No one else was here at this time of day, there were people down on the street but he hoped he’d just look like a man who was trying to get into his locked room.

Deep breaths. Check the guns. Wet his lips.

Kick.

The door snapped open, swinging inwards until it slammed back against the wall, and Dean stepped through with his gun raised before it rebounded.

He expected yelling, moving bodies, maybe spellwork.

What he got, what he saw… was nothing.

The room was deathly quietly.

His heart pounded against his ribs and he felt the pulse through his throat and clenched jaw. He stepped into the room with his weapon held aloft, arms locked, sweeping the area side to side.

Still refusing to make a sound, still refusing to believe he’d been wrong.

Seven quick steps across the carpet and he checked around wooden slatted screens.

Nothing.

Three quick steps through the kitchen to the bathroom door and it swung inward at the nudge of his booted foot.

Empty.

He whirled around and shouted, _“Sam! Sammy?”_

_Where was he? Where were they?_

This was right, it looked right. Unmade beds in the same positions he expected, the right wallpaper, scrawlings on top of scrawlings across all the walls. The chairs, the table, even the rope between the screens where Sam had been suspended.

“No, no no no, fuck!”

He ran out the door, thundered down the stairs and halfway down the street, looking in every car, in every window. He harassed the front desk, gun brandished, and demanded to see security tapes.

The wild, terrified looks he got sent him marching furiously away before anyone called the cops.

He found himself back in the room with the door closed and started looking for clues.

He found one. An obvious one.

Sam’s phone in the drawer of the bedside table with a note on the screen when he keyed in the passcode:

_If you don’t care enough to come and get him, you don’t deserve him. I can be better than you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *prepares to be yelled at profusely*


	15. Do You See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a battle, but here it is at last!
> 
> I’ll need to take a bit of a break from posting after this chapter for a couple of reasons 1) real life stuff, I’ve got some medical appointments to deal with and I don’t know how I’ll be feeling or if I’ll be up to writing for a while. 2) I’ve run out of sections that are already written, and I’d like to write a bunch more and then be able to update on a regular schedule again - and without it being stressful for me rushing to write each week. Because the other option is potentially going back to sporadic updates with long breaks between and that seems like less fun for everyone, including me. So a break for a month or two while I let all that happen, and then we’ll hopefully be back to regular updates. Thanks for understanding!

The Impala rolled along, underneath him, around him. The constant thrum of the engine and the bump of the wheels on the road drowning out everything. Dean’s breath and the presence of his body along the bench seat from Sam’s own were in the edges of his mind's eye. The world whipping along beside him, flying past out of reach.

He couldn’t see, blindfolded, trussed up like a pig for market. Probably. He’d never actually seen a pig brought to market. Like something though, something to use up and pull along behind you, no will of its own.

Alone.

And yet not. Never alone, Dean was beside him in everything. His mind twisted and swung between memories and the present, being in the car with Dean. Leaving with Dean. Disappearing into the distance with his brother beside him.

It was both familiar and not. Both right, and not.

The drugs were making him floaty. Incorporeal. No, that wasn’t the right word. Insubstantial, maybe, a passenger in is own body as they muted his ability to think. Took the edge off the throbbing welts of his back though, took the edge off everything. He’d panic later, he could feel it trying to make its way up and out. The rage, the fight, the quivering, terrified, trapped and lonely part of him that screamed and fretted and kept saying _can’t get away._

It would come out later, when the drugs were gone.

The drugs had been his first sight of the morning, after he’d vowed not to sleep but then sleep had taken him anyway. He’d woken to them cradled in Dean’s open palm with a glass of water on offer too.

Moving had made tears prick his eyes, it hurt so very very much. More than he could bear, because it wasn’t just physical pain. He’d swallowed them gratefully, eagerly. He shouldn’t have. They were stronger than he thought they’d be. They’d made it easy.

Dean had packed up around him in a blur, as he’d used the bathroom and then been handed a pair of boots and jeans which he gingerly stepped into. Grateful again, for clothes, for normalcy.

He’d stood there baffled as Dean explained that five days was long enough to stay in one place. They couldn’t stay longer, they had to keep hidden, get back on the road again like they were always meant to.

Sam had blinked, confused.

“But this is where we’re staying,” he’d said dully, head already clouding over and slow.

“We did, we’ll find somewhere else.”

“No, but this is where we’re living, while we sort all this out. Where Dean can come get me because… we’re here.”

The drugs made his tongue loose and Dean didn’t like it. Sam didn’t particularly like it either.

He found out what the clothes were for, a way to keep him warm outside, and keep him bound. He could barely fight back, heavy limbed and heavy lidded, cotton wool in his brain and his arms like noodles. Dean had threaded rope between the cuffs on his wrists and through the loops of his pants, then secured it behind his back as belt so he couldn’t move his arms.

He’d sobbed. Begged. “ _Don’t do this, just leave me here.”_

Dean was not going to leave him.

“If you’ll agree to come with me happily we won’t have to do it like this,” Dean said. Somehow they’d both ended up kneeling on the thin carpet, Sam clinging with his fingertips to Dean to try and make him keep still and _stop._

Dean didn’t stop.

A t-shirt was pulled over and wrapped around his head so he couldn’t see while Dean undid whatever it was that kept him trapped in the room. Then more magic, painted on his chest and forehead, prickling over his skin and making the world grey out and seem warped.

His last hope of being rescued on the way to the car was trodden to dust when Dean frog marched him down the stairs, passed several follow guests, and none had even looked at him.

“What did you do?” he’d whispered. And then yelled, _“what did you do?”_

“I hid you, concealing magic, their eyes will just slide right past you.”

Sam had fought and yelled for help, tried to rip himself away, wipe it off. He couldn’t, Dean was stronger. His wrists were stuck. There were runes on the side panels of the car too, similar to the ones painted on his skin, he tried to twist and get a good look at them but he couldn’t slip through Dean’s hold. Blearily he wondered why he couldn’t move the way he wanted, events slipped through his addled mind, he remembered as Dean tucked him into the passenger seat that he was drugged and tied up and only failing because Dean had every advantage.

It wasn't fair. It was starting to feel normal that it wasn't fair.

Now, they sat in silence. Sam thinking as furiously as his drugged slow brain allowed about whether he could get the blindfold off without being able to lift his hands above his waist. He couldn’t think of a way. He could barely think at all.

Another song whirred into life in the tape deck, Dean hummed along. Sam stewed. It was an awful parody of everything he’d ever known and he didn’t even have a distraction.

“So I really can’t see where we’re going, the entire drive?” he asked again.

He heard Dean shift beside him. “You could just sleep, I know you didn’t much last night.”

“Because sleeping as you kidnap me, that makes it all better right? If I’m not awake for the drive it’ll be like it never happened. What are you going to do, build a replica of the motel room and hope I never notice that we left?”

Dean sighed. “I want us safe, and I don’t know if we can be safe if you’re doing everything you can to get us noticed, if you don’t know where you are you can’t send up the bat signal or whatever.”

“Bat signal?”

“You know, Batman—”

“I know what the bat signal _is_ what the fuck does it have to do with any of this?”

“I’m sure you’d find a way to get someone’s attention, if you had all your…. if you could. I’m only removing temptation.”

Sam wished Dean was right, that if he had all his faculties, and his senses, that he’d worm his way out. The past five days had proven otherwise. There was just a thin sheet of metal and glass keeping him in the car, keeping him prisoner. Metal and glass and Dean and spells. And all of it was too much.

 

* * *

 

“Cas, turn around,” Dean said frantically as soon as Cas picked up the phone.

“What?”

“Back to the bunker, you’ve got to start checking out what I’m sending you. Floor it, I need you back at those screens.”

“What’s going on? Talk to me.”

There was the telltale sound of tyres screeching down the line as Cas turned his truck around. Dean had never wished for him to have his wings back so fiercely. Doing things the human way sucked ass. Everything was fucked up and heavy and he felt like he was going to drop down in despair at any moment. Having a fully juiced angel on his side would’ve really helped.

“They’re gone.”

 _“What?”_ the emotion in Cas’s voice was like a slap in the face.

“I was too late. They’re not here. They were, I got the right room, but they must’ve shipped out… before. God dammit, I fucked up Cas, I lost him again.”

“How long have they been gone for?”

“How the fuck would I know that?”

“What time did you get there?”

“Around ten a.m, so some time before that. I know they were here last night, there’s… I know Sam was tied up right where I’m standing. I must’ve missed them by hours.”

“Dean… I don’t want to be pessimistic but—”

“But what?” something sunk in his gut. Trepidation. Fear of something he hadn’t wanted to voice.

“How do you know the photos they sent weren’t all taken at once and only sent to you day by day.”

Dean reeled, physically flinching. He frantically flipped through the photos on the phone cradled in his other hand, looking for the time stamps. Exhaling, and then feeling his throat restrict all over again when he checked them all.

“No, they’re all from different times, different days. Unless someone went through the trouble of changing his phones internal clock before taking every picture. But the lighting is different too. I think they were just here, how could I let them slip through my fingers?”

“They can’t have got far, can they?”

“I don’t know, but if we have to start over, and we don’t even know what vehicle they’re driving, or even _if_ they’re driving…”

“Did you find the Impala?”

Questions helped, focussing helped. Not enough, but a bit. Dean set about recounting his night of searching, his morning waiting, and what he’d found — and what he hadn’t — and got back to work.

 

* * *

 

There were things Sam had noticed during Dean readying him to leave; the way Dean’s hands had moved as he’d drawn the new and hated sigil on Sam’s chest, the open page in a journal that was most definitely not their fathers, but had been held with the same careful reverence.

As his thoughts were cleared they ran through his mind, tiny pieces of a larger puzzle. He’d seen the marks on his chest — though upside down — and he’d felt the one drawn on his forehead. He traced what he could imagine of them over and over with his fingers onto the opposite palm. They might be important, remembering them might be vital. There were others he’d seen in the book too, ones that matched markings scrawled on the motel walls. He thought about them as well, and what they might mean, always trying to draw up connections between ones he recognised and those he didn’t.

“So, your journal,” he ventured as the day wore on and stiffness returned to his muscles as Dean’s choice of meds wore off.

“Yeah?”

“You kept one, like Dad did.”

“After Sam, yes.”

“After he died?”

He got a hum of annoyed agreement, hardly audible.

“So… what’s in it is everything you learned about moving between worlds?”

“Stuff like that yeah, new magic, new forms of old ideas. Anything I found that was different.”

“What’s it like, travelling between, is it hard?”

“Why the third degree?” Dean asked, suspicion cutting his voice deep.

“I just want to understand what it’s like. I’m… despite everything, I'm curious.”

“Despite everything,” Dean said flatly. “Despite me you mean.”

“Despite your arrival being the start of me being tied down and violated for the better part of a week, yes, despite that.”

Dean turned the music up and didn’t respond. At least, he didn’t respond again until he’d dosed Sam up on another lot of meds an hour later. Sam tried to protest but jolting away from the touch of Dean’s fingers at his lips jarred his welted back and suddenly painkillers seemed like a wonderful respite.

“Grace is how you do it, nephilim grace. I told you that didn’t I?”

Sam roused sharply out of the dozing relief he’d fallen halfway in to. And nodded. “Yes.”

“It’s hard to come by but I got hold of some.” his voice was thick with something Sam couldn’t place, he wondered what Dean had done to acquire it. “And you’ve got to find a weak link, somewhere the spell can take hold and rip open — that’s the bit that takes a while, and there’s no telling where you’ll come out on the other side — but when you’ve done all that the doorway just opens up in front of you, like something out of a movie.

“You just step through, and there’s a whole new world. Sounds great right, could be anything and everything you’ve ever wanted? It’s not always that easy. More often than not it’s just disappointing finding things are worse than what you left.”

“How many?” Sam asked, slurring.

“Seven.”

“And I wasn’t… not in any of them?”

“Not a trace of you, until I got here. Thought I might never find you. It’s good I did, I’m nearly out of juice.”

Sam struggled to follow, his imagination filling in blanks with things that made no sense. He was loopy on these drugs. He willed his mind to remember the conversation, to go over again later. He was slumped so low in his seat he could feel the knot at the back of the blindfold pressed between his skull and the seat. He rolled his head toward Dean and heard a small laugh.

“Keep going,” Sam urged. The leather smelled homely, and squeaked all worn down and supple under the cheek of his face.

A gentle touch of a hand pressed over his eyes, little tugs of fingers as Dean checked that the blindfold hadn’t shifted out of place. Sam stayed still and let him, no use in protesting anyway.

“Sleep dude, you need it.”

So he did.

When he woke, the crick in his neck telling him he’d been slumped over for at least an hour or two, it was to find that he’d curled into the door like he always did. There was a moment between sleeping and waking when he sighed in contentment, momentarily forgetting that everything was _wrong._

The lull of the car, Dean beside him — together, right. Until he remembered that it wasn’t. He seized up in surprise at his ability to forget and then have it all crash down around him and he would have moved, turned away to slip out of the memories, but Dean was muttering beside him.

“Fuck, sorry Sammy, so sorry. Shouldn’t be like this, don’t hate me okay, don’t hate me. I’d leave him and come find you if I could but I don’t know how. He’s all I have left of you.”

Dean saw him as a pale imitation of the Sam he’d lived with and loved? It was jarring, but Sam supposed it made sense.

“He’ll come around. He’s got to, and then you’ll see.”

Sam jerked at that, grunted, all stiff and stuck in place.

“You awake?”

“Guess so.”

It was hard to tell, everything was black even with his eyes open and the drugs flattened out his ability to think, but it all seemed too real to be a dream. Dean gripped his upper arm and he jerked in surprise. With a heave he was hauled upright and he went willingly, rolling his neck to ease out the kinks.

“Bit sore there?” Dean’s hand trailed up his shoulder and along his collarbone until it rested at the base of his neck and his thumb rubbed in little circles.

“Don’t.”

“A little massage never hurt anyone.”

Dean's fingers curled into the fluff of hair at the base of Sam’s neck, his thumb circling round the side of Sam’s throat. Sam tried to throw himself away, jerking and sliding on the seat. His hands waved, tugging painfully at the cuffs as he fruitlessly tried to reach up and bat Dean’s hand away.

“Hey, woah, calm down.”

“Don’t touch me, don’t touch my neck.”

Dean’s hand slipped back to his shoulder and Sam breathed ragged and tried to think. He’d panicked, and was too foggy to even figure out why.

“Are you a bit sensitive from the… from your marks?”

Sam thought about that, and he was, but it hadn’t been pain that had made him move away.

“You know you can say that you whipped me, it’s not like either of us is going to forget.”

“I… it wasn’t a _whipping_ , not like that, not like you’re implying. I just broke down some walls between us. Or I tried to, you didn’t seem very receptive to it.”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know, something’s got to work one of these days.”

“And you’ll just keep trying until something does.” it wasn’t even a question, Sam knew he was right.

“You know this morning was the first time you’ve touched me voluntarily? First time you’ve reached out for me?”

Sam remembered, crying, wailing, trying to hold Dean in his weakened drug addled grip and make him see reason. It didn’t mean anything, it was just desperation.

“And you still didn’t give me what I wanted.”

“I could give you something else, something to make you feel good again.”

Sex. Probably. It seemed to be Dean’s go to, like it might fix everything. Sam sighed, and turned towards the window again. The drugs swam around his system and he drifted in and out of a doze.

He drifted and woke to a hand fumbling over his jeans-clad cock.

“Nn-aah!” he shifted his chained hands so Dean couldn’t touch him, covering up. “Stoppit.”

“Come on, hey, it’s okay to take pleasure where you can get it.”

Sam shuffled lower in his seat, bending his cramped legs. “I can’t even see you,” he slurred.

“Maybe that’ll make it easier.”

Sam’s head lolled onto the back of the seat and he lost himself to the feel of air moving in and out of his nostrils, to his body being rocked by the rhythm of the road.

“Is this how you did things before?” he asked, slowly, picking his words like flowers so they were the right ones.

“Sometimes, whenever, wherever. Life is short, take it while you can get it was always my philosophy.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.” he lifted his ass, sore and protesting, off the seat. Trying to twist and huffing in annoyance because his hands were unwilling to move. He didn’t like it. Trapped. “These drugs are really some-thin’. Nothing works.”

“Sit still you big oaf, you’re only making it worse.”

“Dean…”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me who he was. Who _I_ was. I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get Sammy?”

Dean’s hand landed on his thigh and it was warm and it squeezed. “You gonna fondle me or tell me a story?” Sam snapped.

“Both, if you like.”

“Just the words, just words…” _please, don’t touch me._

“Go to sleep Sam.”

Why did he keep saying that? What was so important about sleeping anyway, it’s not like it helped.

 

* * *

 

Next time consciousness came calling it was easier to hold on to. Dean was stroking him with little curls of his wrist. Sam gasped, he was already hard.

“You never liked waking up alone. Always used to make you worried, but you hated cuddling at night because you run so damn hot. I used to just sit there until you woke up enough to know I was only going for coffee.”

“What, what the fu-”

He gasped again when Dean’s ministrations made his dick twitch, when it felt fucking _good._

“And you can’t speak in sentences when you’re getting it on. You get all fragmented, like you can’t hold a thought long enough to voice it. Pretty good at grunting out orders though, making sure I knew what you wanted.”

Sam’s body strained, leaning into the touch while his mind recoiled. Muscles spasming for control, heart rate high, and lungs a little on the wrong side of empty. Dean backed off right as he thought he might blow right there in the car.

He gasped for air as he backed away from the edge.

“I can tell you more, anytime you want. Just ask.”

“Does it have to come with a handjob you creep?”

“You chubbed up in your sleep what was I supposed to do, I like helping you.”

“That wasn’t helping!”

“Not yet, but it’s better if you wait,” Dean laughed.

“Can’t you ignore me like a normal person, can’t you let me sleep without getting in my space?”

“I dunno, I think you’ve had too much space. Something was wrong in your life and you didn’t even notice.”

“My life was fine.”

“Was it?” Dean asked. “Or was it just okay to pretend?”

“Is that how you got him to get on board with this, just wore him down until it seemed like the best option? Did you even give him a choice?”

Sam felt the car swerve, heard Dean’s curse as the tires screeched. And then sat very still as it realigned on the tarmac. The air felt close, thick, too warm on his skin and in his mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking dare imply that I forced him into loving me. That’s not how it went. That wasn’t me.”

“Okay,” Sam replied hesitantly.

Sam’s cock softened, blood draining away as his brain demanded more of it.

“Okay? Really, that’s all you have to say? We were made to be together, it never felt wrong. You hear me?” Dean’s hand was suddenly on the back of his neck, shaking him, and Sam flinched.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. Don’t, I’m sorry okay, I don’t know what… what’s safe to talk about, what I can say to you.”

Dean sighed audibly, leather squeaking as he shifted in his seat and his hand retracted.

“Sam, when you died. I just, it wasn’t just that you were gone. It was _how_ you were gone. Because I couldn’t fix what we started and you paid the price. And you weren’t… _he_ wasn’t really lucid at the end.”

Sam waited for there to be more, like if he held his breath he might not disturb the flow of words Dean was spilling out. He waited for answers, ears strained for every sound, and he got more than he bargained for.

“He started asking me all these questions, rambling about where he might go… after. Heaven. Hell. I was beside myself he’d… he’d finished the ritual while I took care of _her_. And I didn’t get chance to tell him he should stop, it was done before I could talk to him and tell him it wasn’t worth it, so it took me a while to figure out what he was on about.

“Eventually I realised and I asked him why he thought he’d go anywhere but heaven, he’d literally just given his life to put an end to hell where else would he have gone, right? He looked at me and his eyes they were just pits, just desperate, and he said “what about us?” And I got real mad, because what, what about us?

“And he said, because… what we had — our lives, how we loved each other — he asked me if it was wrong. No, he _told_ me it was wrong, that it was nothing anyone but us could understand, and how could god, or the universe or whatever, account for it? He said maybe we shouldn’t have done any of it, that we were never meant to be together.”

Dean’s voice cracked, and Sam heard him swallow.

“I tried to convince him, to make him see reason, but… he slipped away. And I don’t know if he believed me, if he knew it didn’t matter that it had never mattered, because we had each other and what universe would deny us that after everything? I tried to make him see it was alright, he… he said he didn’t regret it, that he wouldn’t have changed it, but he still had this look before he faded. This look like he still thought it might’ve doomed him, and yet he’d have loved me anyway even if he’d known.”

Sam heard leather squeak, and felt the car roll to a stop. Dean shifted close, cupped his face, pressed their foreheads together, the smell of him filling Sam’s nostrils as Dean’s body heat wrapped another suffocating layer around his body.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat in the dark and reeled and wanted to weep for everything, but didn’t cry, his eyes as dry as a desert.

“So you see, Sam, do you see now? How I have to make this right? I have to make it so some version of you knows that there’s nothing wrong with us. There’s nothing wrong with how I love you. You have to see that, please, Sammy. I can’t, I won’t, go on and let you think it’s something filthy or that it spoils you. I have to fix it.”

Sam nodded, numb. Mind a wash of white, snowfall and bleak wind and empty.

Because he did see, how Dean was trying to mend something that had never been broken, to make up for something Sam had no part in. But he saw how to Dean he was the catalyst and the cure and the calamity, and how Dean was never going to be right with him around as a reminder. And he was never going to willingly let Sam go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So AU Sam’s death really broke Dean and his perception of reality, in case that wasn’t obvious before now ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading, appreciate you all being here!


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